


The Journal of Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus

by HerbertJenkins



Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - School, Ancient History, Ancient Rome, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Boys In Love, Class Differences, Classics, College, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Everyone Is Gay, Falling In Love, Fencing, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gen, High School, Historical Inaccuracy, Latin, Love, Love Triangles, Love/Hate, M/M, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Private School, Queer Themes, Roma | Rome, Romance, Romantic Fluff, School, Schoolboys, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, Unrequited Love, everyone is an upper class snob, the timeline is fucked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 69,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerbertJenkins/pseuds/HerbertJenkins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a website where the plebs post their works, is it not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 31st August, 2015

31/08/15

 

I am utterly disgusted. Utterly, completely, overwhelmingly disgusted. My once-prestigious private school, this upstanding house of education, has opened its doors to the non-fee paying public. This is an outrage, a total outrage. I got home from my day on my uncle’s yacht and was handed a copy of the local newspaper by my butler Jonty, and my stomach turned as I saw the headline: ‘ _BEST PRIVATE SCHOOL IN CITY BECOMES STATE SCHOOL_ ’. I feel betrayed. Why did they not announce this to us before? How dare they only let it be known through the local rag? What does this place think it is?

I was actually rather excited about returning to school for sixth form. I was looking forward to studying the subjects I’ve chosen. But now… I will have to share the ancient, beautiful, hallowed halls with _poor people_. My skin crawls just thinking about it.

Catching sight of the full-length portrait of myself in Tudor costume on the wall, I wonder whether any of the plebs that will be invading the school have anything like this. Pah, of course they don’t, who am I kidding? They do not live this sort of life, the life of wealth and status. Their uncles are not retired admirals in the Navy. They do not have the pure, unbroken bloodline of an ancient, high-class family. Their houses-- mansions, rather-- are not filled with busts of illustrious kin. They simply… exist. How can I relate to such people?

What worries me is the sanctity of my group of friends. I am part-- I believe-- of an exclusive clique known as the Secundi Filii, and we practically rule the school. Hadrian is at its head, a fine young man with a majestic and curled beard. I trust him. I trust that he would not let the riff-raff into our group. He is very selective with who he inducts; even _I_ do not own a Secundi Filii blazer, and I have been amongst them for years. I have recently been asking my closest friend Tacitus to perhaps allow me to obtain one, but he has never given me a straight answer. Maybe he is unsure of the direction in which to lead me. Maybe I should ask Hadrian directly next time.

But Tacitus! Why ask Hadrian, when I could ask Tacitus! He is an excellent fellow, an upstanding member of the school and a wonderful person. With his flowing, golden hair, his strong jaw, his proud nose… truly, he embodies the majesty and virility of the greatest men of old. I admire him greatly. I cannot wait to return to school, and hear more of his genius aphorisms. I record them, you see, in my notebook. Whenever he says something witty, I make sure to quickly scribble it down, so that I may remember the words forever. I have filled up dozens of notebooks since Year 7, when I first came to know him. He has made some truly inspired quips.

Now then, I must return to my other writing. My debating club’s first meeting of the year is on the second day back, and the captain has already notified us of the topic of our first debate. I am excited to be getting back to debating club, amongst other refined people. I hope that we will be able to discuss whether fox-hunting should be legal in peace.

 

 


	2. 2nd September, 2015

02/09/15

 

It was the first day of school today. And may I say, what is the world coming to? Even Hadrian was poisoned by the disease of state-schooldom! (I shall get to this later.)

I entered the sixth form building, and, as expected, noticed many new faces. Most of these were vulgar, spotted with acne and disfigured with piercings, the classic marks of the plebs. They all looked up at me as I passed, their faces confused as they perceived the litter in which I was being carried. It was evidently new to them that someone would be carried to school in a litter. I must admit, my friends don’t do it either, but they are not as esteemed as I. They do not come from such a noble family.

Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus, son of the prestigious Caecilius family. That is me. I am descended from numerous great men and women. Their blood runs through my veins. My entire family tree is glittering with gold, clothed in imperial purple. Even Hadrian, son of a politician who sits in the House of Lords, cannot match my ancestry.

Now, I continue my recount of the day.

Getting out of my litter, I located the members of Secundi Filii who are in my form. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Tacitus, my greatest friend and personal idol of mine. I made a bee-line for him and greeted him. We did not have long to converse before our tutor came in and began to take the register. And she dared to refer to me as ‘Gaius’.

“Listen here, when you call out my name in the register, you call out my full name,” I instructed her. She told me that I should not tell her what to do. To that, I stood up in anger and stormed from the room, hoping that Tacitus would follow me. He did not, to my dismay. I suppose he is not as confident as I am to stand up for my rights and freedom.

Later on in the day, during breaktime, I was approached by the Head of Sixth Form, Professor Hunton-Blather. She discreetly beckoned me towards her, and upon approaching her, she whispered to me that she wanted to speak to me in her office. Thus, I followed her. Once there, she told me that my actions during morning registration were not acceptable.

I must admit, I was terrified at that point, that I would be punished. My record had been clean up to this point, utterly spotless! My heart raced as a few seconds of silence descended upon the room. Finally, Professor Hunton-Blather said, “Do not worry, for you are one of our most beloved students. Just for you, I shall let this slide.”

When I returned to the Secundi Filii, who were clustered around a bench on the grounds, I noticed them staring at a student. I followed their gaze and my eyes rested on an attractive young man, undoubtedly in Year 12. He had brown skin and vaguely Greek features, though there may have been a hint of the Middle Eastern-- I could not be sure. His dark hair fell in perfect curls, and its long and almost unkempt style was somewhat endearing. He was sitting on the grass with a book resting in his lap, looking to be concentrating deeply.

“Chaps, what are you doing looking at that fellow?” I asked.

“Hadrian told us to observe him,” replied Tacitus, in his mellow, sonorous voice.

“Why on earth would that be?”

The rest of the Secundi Filii interjected that they had no idea. At that moment, Hadrian walked up to us at the bench.

“Plinius, what are you doing here?” he asked with a sigh.

I made to reply, but it seemed that Hadrian was too absorbed in his observation of the boy on the grass.

“We must interrogate him,” he announced. “Judging by the book he is reading--” I noticed that it was a copy of the _Res Gestae Divi Augusti_ \-- “it is apparent that he is educated and intelligent. He looks like a good potential member of Secundi Filii.”

“But he is clearly from a state school! Look at his crumpled clothing!” exclaimed Clarus, another member of Secundi Filii. “His garments look like they’ve never seen an iron in their life.”

“He looks sweet,” noted Vergil.

I must take some time from my narrative to describe to you the members of Secundi Filii, in order that posterity may understand the appearances, backgrounds, personalities and manners of my friends.

Firstly, let me speak of Vergil. That name is in fact a nickname, by which he is known only to his friends. His full name is Publius Vergilius Maro, and to most people in the school, he is known as Publius (for the general populace do not understand the intricacies of our naming traditions). He is a fairly high-born fellow, from an extremely ancient Roman family like all in our clique. I confess that I am not entirely sure how he obtained membership to the Secundi Filii, for he is-- how do I put this tactfully?-- not exactly the sort of person one would expect to be hanging about with our calibre of men. Nevertheless, his heart seems to be in the right place, and he is devoted to the respectable study of biology, chiefly botany.

Clarus-- C. Septicius Clarus-- although a friend of mine, I vaguely distrust him. Back in Year 10, when I was the best of friends with Suetonius (whose description I shall come to in due course), he swept in and stole him. Not to say that Clarus is not a good person, but I was just a little insulted that Suetonius immediately became close with him. Clarus only came to the school in Year 10, and Suetonius and I had been friends since _reception_! We were each other’s first ever friends, and Clarus entered the picture and won _my_ friend’s favour. Gods, I thought that I was over it… Apparently not. I highly dislike Clarus.

I have already spoken in my last entry on Tacitus, so you are aware that he is a truly great young man. He comes from an illustrious family, noble blood on both his father’s and mother’s side, etc etc etc. His entire countenance radiates authority and power. Even though we are the same height, I feel as if I must look up at him every time I see him-- I simply feel so inferior in his presence. What an excellent man.

Next, I shall describe Suetonius. As I have related, he used to be my best friend, but was heinously stolen by Clarus. I harbour no ill-will towards him for this, however; I am only angry with Clarus. Suetonius is a very respectable person, and due to my friendship with him, I was able to become part of the Secundi Filii. What concerns me, however, is that-- although we joined the group at the same time-- he obtained his official blazer within weeks, whereas I have not yet received one. The Secundi Filii blazer is only given to those who have been fully inducted into the group, so why do I not have one? Surely I cannot be _not yet_ fully inducted?

Di immortales, I must not let these worrying thoughts overcome me.

Finally, Hadrian, the head of the clique, deserves a paragraph. I recall mentioning in a previous entry that his father sits in the House of Lords, so you will therefore be aware of how high-born he is. For this, he is an enviable character, whose bearing and gravitas makes him an excellent leader of our exclusive group. He is talented in many fields-- in fact, he was the one that designed the Secundi Filii blazers. He also devised our motto: _aequari pavet alta minori_. This means ‘a lofty thing fears being made equal with a lower’, and I feel that it perfectly captures the essence of our clique. We are refined, high-class young men.

Let me now return to my narrative.

Hadrian, cheeks going a slight shade of crimson, instructed me to go and interrogate the boy on the grass, and ascertain what secondary school he attended. I was surprised that he asked _me_ of all people, for Suetonius is far better at speaking to strangers than I, but I held my head high and marched towards him.

“Hello there,” I said, switching to speaking English (the first language of all the Secundi Filii is Latin; thus this is the language we speak when we are amongst each other).

“Hello?” the boy replied, the upward inflection at the end of the word suggesting confusion.

“How are you today? What are you reading?” I asked.

“Oh, the, um, the _Res Gestae Divi Augusti_ … it’s… um… it’s a Latin thing…” He shielded his face from me with his hand, betraying embarrassment at his own intellectualism. The poor pronunciation of the Latin rather amused me, so I smiled.

“My dear boy, I know all about the _Res Gestae_. I’ve read it a number of times.”

“Have you? Can you help me with my Latin then? I mean, I don’t wanna be too forward, but it’s for Latin A-Level… Are you doing Latin A-Level as well?”

“I did it in Year 8, but it is my first language, so I can indeed help you,” I said soothingly, sitting down on the grass next to him. He turned to me and looked at me like I was some kind of alien.

“Latin is your first language?” he repeated.

“Yes, it is. I expected that you would find it strange. Which reminds me; what secondary school did you used to go to?”

He replied with the name of the school-- I forget what it is now-- and I considered my work to be done. I stood up and walked away, only to hear him protest that I had not helped him with his Latin. I shouted back that I would do so another time, then returned to the Secundi Filii. When I told Hadrian the name of the school the boy used to attend, his face contorted in horror.

“A state school!” he shrieked. “A state school! Gods! Could we possibly let a state school student into the Secundi Filii?”

“I think so,” said Vergil. “He seems nice. And educated, reading that stuffy old thing.”

“Now listen here, Maro, the _Res Gestae_ is a masterpiece!” Suetonius ejaculated.

“Quiet, chaps,” Hadrian ordered. “Now, Plinius, did you learn his name, by any chance?”

I shook my head slowly.

“You dunce! Go back and ask him!”

“This is very odd behaviour, Hadrian,” noted Tacitus. “It is not a good first impression to be giving, sending somebody to talk for you and ask questions in this manner.”

“I don’t want to talk to him, okay?” Hadrian snapped suddenly, overcome with what seemed like embarrassment.

“Reason and judgement are the qualities of a leader, my friend. You seem to be showing neither.”

What a stunning aphorism! I immediately noted it down.

“Be quiet, Tacitus, before I demote you from Vice-Chairman of the Secundi Filii. Don’t think that I won’t do it.”

I slipped away back to the boy on the grass.

“I hate to disturb you further, my lad,” I began. “But would you mind terribly telling me your name?”

“I’m Antinous,” he replied, flicking some of the hair from his face in a perfectly-crafted show of nonchalance. “And who are you?”

“Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus.” I stuck out my right hand, which he duly shook. I then took the liberty of making Hadrian’s intentions known: “My dear friend Hadrian is interested in befriending you. Would you like to come back with me to him and our friends? Perhaps, if one of them shares a lesson with you, you could walk together?”

He put down his pencil, which he was using to write notes in his copy of the Res Gestae, and raised an eyebrow.

“Okay? I’ll come with you?”

The upward inflections in his voice were-- what is the colloquial term?-- rather camp, leading me to believe that he perhaps could be gay. This fills me with joy, for I do not want to be the only member of Secundi Filii who likes men. Not saying that I do, but you know… I have been questioning. Perhaps. Maybe. Possibly.

The two of us returned to the bench, just as the bell signalling the end of breaktime rung. Antinous then informed me that his next lesson was Biology.

“Ah! Excellent,” I exclaimed. “Our friend Vergilius here has Biology also. Hey! Maro, my friend! Come and walk with Antinous here to your next lesson.”

Vergil gave Antinous a rather awkward smile, and off the two of them went to Biology. I, meanwhile, followed Hadrian to our lesson, Political Science. During this class, I clandestinely conversed with him-- our teacher, one Mr Traianus, was a little deaf, and was unlikely to hear us.

“So, Hadrian, do you think that Antinous is a worthy candidate for the Secundi Filii?” I whispered.

Hadrian’s eyes widened and his expression softened.

“Antinous!” he said. “What a… what a noble name! Is he Greek?”

“Perhaps. But I agree, with such a name, it is clear that he has at least a semblance of a prestigious background--”

“Plinius!” Mr Traianus barked. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, without hesitation. “You were just talking about the earliest examples of oligarchy, and how they are similar to the political systems of some modern countries which people often refer to as oligarchies.”

“Good. Now, cease conversation. I _can_ hear you.”

Hadrian sneakily slapped me on the arm in frustration. It hurt, but I did not show any expression of pain on the outside.

The rest of the day passed fairly uneventfully. Hadrian spent most of lunchtime talking to Antinous, whilst I finished off my Economics homework. That afternoon, I had double Philosophy, which was quite fascinating. When I got home, I cracked open my uncle’s old copy of Hume’s _Philosophical Essays Concerning Human Understanding_ and passed the evening away in reading. Over dinner, my uncle had the book read out, and we took notes and extracts from it, albeit rapidly.

 

 


	3. 3rd September, 2015

03/09/15

 

Today was a very eventful day, in contrast to my last entry. I am still blushing just thinking about it… Get it together Plinius…

            Let me start from the beginning, and tell my story chronologically. (Suetonius always says that this is unwise, and all writing should be organised by topic, but Tacitus disagrees, and Tacitus is always right.)

            In the morning, I had my first Classical Civilisation lesson, with the excellent teacher who taught me at GCSE, Mr Claudius. Although a somewhat timid man, he is very learned, and can wax lyrical on the minutiae of ancient life. His lessons are absolutely captivating. So, I was sitting in my habitual place on the second row (meaning that this is my preferred row in all my lessons), and was slightly disappointed to find that no one wanted to sit next to me. Vowing to act undeterred by this, I listened closely to Mr Claudius, who was beginning to talk about Emperor Augustus.

            All of a sudden, the door of the classroom swung open and a rather scruffy young man entered. His hair was wild and shaggy, his clothes were creased and barely adhering to the uniform regulations, and he had a vaguely flustered expression on his face.

            “Uh, hi, Mr Claudius,” he said, giving the teacher a sheepish smile. I felt my cheeks becoming hot-- a telltale sign of blushing-- as I observed this, for some reason finding the boy’s wide grin with his slightly crooked and uneven teeth exceedingly endearing. I looked away and stared at my folder, hoping that my inner emotions were not obvious on the outside.

            “Late, I see. What is your name?” asked Mr Claudius.

            “Um, Gaius,” he replied, scanning the room for a free seat.

            “Gaius what? We actually have more than one Gaius here.”

            My heart inexplicably skipped a beat at Mr Claudius’ allusion to me.

            “Oh, uh, Gaius Valerius. Gaius Valerius Catullus.”

            “Well then, Mr Catullus, that is one late mark. If you get another, it will be detention. Now go sit down next to-- ah! what a coincidence!-- next to our other Gaius: Gaius Plinius.”

            Mr Claudius gestured to the empty seat next to me as I looked up, my eyes unconsciously widening. I could not help the rush of butterflies that stormed in my stomach, but I calmed my mind and managed to give Catullus a vaguely normal-looking smile.

            Once he had sat down next to me, I greeted him in Latin (for I guessed from his name that he was of Roman ancestry).

            “Um, hi?” he replied, keeping his voice low, speaking in Latin.

            I opened and closed my mouth repeatedly, unsure of what to say next. Normally I am very eloquent, and a master of rhetoric, but all words had fled from me.

            “So you speak Latin?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and giving me an attractive smirk.

            “Yes… I do… yes…” I spluttered.

            “That’s cool, I thought I was the only one,” he said, sounding genuinely sincere.

            “Oh no, quite the opposite. A number of us in the school have Roman origins. In fact, we are a sort of club.”

            “Is that those guys in the obnoxious blazers?”

            “I suppose, yes, although I wouldn’t say that their blazers were _obnoxious_ … They are very great men.”

            I feel that it would be unwise to recount our entire conversation here-- not that I remember it or anything-- but rather give a condensed version. We spoke for the entire lesson, much to the dismay of Mr Claudius, who ended up moving Catullus to the front row. At breaktime, we continued to talk, and found that we had many common interests. He showed me some verses which he had composed, and they were extremely touching. I too let him read some short poems I have been writing, and he praised them heartily.

            As you can see, my day had so far been splendid. At the end of break, we parted ways-- Catullus to English Literature, and I to Economics. But before we left each other, Catullus asked me if I wanted to meet after school, to perhaps spend some time in the library reading or doing homework. My heart soared at this suggestion, so I of course said yes.

            In Economics-- in which I sit by Tacitus-- I told him of these exciting developments. The expression that crossed his countenance at the mention of meeting Catullus was indescribable. He almost looked hurt, as if he’d been betrayed. There was a flicker of anger, then he was suddenly neutral, like he was trying to suppress his feelings.

            “That sounds very nice, Plinius,” he said curtly.

            For the rest of the lesson, he did not say a word to me. Highly concerning.

            So, the end of the day came round in its course, and I met Catullus outside the classroom in which his last lesson was being held. He smiled widely when he noticed me, and I must admit, I fought the urge to embrace him. Instead, I held out my hand, which he shook, with a rather bemused look on his face.

            “Shall we go then?” I asked, not wanting an awkward silence to descend upon us.

            Shouldering his very smart satchel, Catullus walked alongside my litter to the local library. The bottom floor of this place was filled with books of all genres, whilst the top contained some computers, desks and space for reading or studying. It was to there that we made our way.

            Immediately, Catullus sat down on a beanbag on the floor and threw his bag down next to him.

            “Here?!” I exclaimed. “Should we not sit by a desk to do our work?”

            “It’s way better down here. Way more comfortable. Come on, sit on the one next to me!”

            I reluctantly deposited myself on a large, purple beanbag and placed my rucksack on the carpeted floor. When I looked up, I saw Catullus putting on a pair of stylish retro-style glasses. My gods, the feelings that came over me then… They were as strong as if Tacitus had been the one I was gazing at!

            He clearly noticed me gazing at him, and raised a confused eyebrow. I stuttered unintelligible words for some moments, before managing to collect my thoughts.

            “Uh… yes… what homework is it that you have to do?” I asked, avoiding eye contact.

            “Just some Ancient Greek,” he answered. “It’s utter shit. It’s _so difficult_.”

            My heart leapt. I too was learning Ancient Greek, with a private tutor! I could help him!

            And thus, I did. Catullus seemed to be very pleased with this, and we ended up discussing the genius of Sappho for a number of hours. The library closed at around 18:30, so we left the building and I climbed up into my litter.

            “That was extremely enjoyable, Catullus,” I said.

            “Call me Cat!” he replied, in a very upbeat way. I physically recoiled at this incredibly odd request.

            “Cat? What?” I spluttered.

            “It’s a nickname, I guess. I prefer it to my actual name, which, by the way, is _really_ embarrassing.”

            “ _Embarrassing?_ ” I shrieked. “How is your great Roman name embarrassing?”

            “Everyone else has normal names like Tom and Matt and Alex,” he said, his voice becoming softer in tone, more sincere. “I sound like a real weirdo when I’m like ‘oh hi, I’m Gaius Valerius Catullus. Catullus is my last name, but due to the ancient naming traditions that my parents adhered to, you have to call me that as if it’s my first name.’ I mean, obviously it’s not technically right, but you know, it’s the best way to explain it… It’s just so embarrassing… Sorry, I’m kind of rambling now, I should shut up…”

            “No! Please continue! In fact, come into my litter and we can talk. I can give you a ride home.”

            My litter-bearers sunk to their knees and allowed Catullus to step in. He got himself comfortable on the spare chair, told the litter-bearers the directions to his house, then we set off on our way.

            “My dear friend, please tell me more about this embarrassment over your name,” I began. “It is utterly fascinating. And heartbreaking. Yes, I mean that it’s very unfortunate. I will teach you to be proud of your name.”

            He raised an eyebrow at me in confusion, but I saw in his eyes that he was secretly glad to be able to spill his inner feelings.

            “Okay, well, maybe you don’t really get it in your school, since there seems to be a ton of people with Roman names and whatnot, but back in my secondary school I stuck out like a sore thumb. I mean, it was okay if I just introduced myself as just Gaius, but-- and you’ll probably get this-- it just felt _so wrong_. Like, that is _not_ how Roman names work.”

            “Oh, I know the feeling,” I said, in my most sympathetic tone of voice. And in fact, I _was_ sympathetic to him. Poor Catullus, feeling ashamed of his name, one of the most important parts of a person’s identity!

            “So yeah. That’s sort of it, I guess? I suppose it’s better now, in this sixth form, cos it’s like every other person is a Roman. In every single one of my classes I’ve got one of those Secundi Filii blazer guys.”

            There were some moments of silence as I struggled to think of what to say.

            “Shall I call you Cat, then?” I finally asked. “Would you prefer that?”

            “I guess, yeah, if that’s not too much trouble.”

            More silence, and then: “One thing though, it’s a girl’s name, isn’t it? I mean, like, I haven’t really asked anyone else to call me it yet, and I’m kinda worried that people will make fun of me or something. It isn’t _too_ unusual, is it, if I’m not a girl but called Cat?”

            “The world of English names is a vast one, Cat,” I said, daring to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. A sudden rush coursed through my body upon touching him, but I tried not to physically show it on my exterior. “People can be called almost anything, and they will not be too heavily questioned by others. Especially if you pass it off as a simple nickname.”

            Catullus-- Cat, rather-- gave me an extremely honest smile, then bade me farewell, since the litter had arrived at his house. As soon as he had crossed the threshold of the front door and disappeared from view, I let myself grin and reflect on what a wonderful afternoon I had just had the pleasure of experiencing.

 


	4. 4th September, 2015

04/09/15

 

I was up all of last night, thinking and overthinking about my date-- no, no, no, not a date-- with Cat. I feel as if it would help to put my feelings down on paper, so thus I write.

            Tacitus! O, how had I forgotten about Tacitus! As the joy turned into questioning and doubting, I could not help but feel like I had somehow betrayed him. The feelings that were stirred up with Cat were ones that I have only ever felt for Tacitus. I am not saying that these are romantic feelings-- for I am not entirely certain what label to use just yet-- but they are definitely something notable. How can I feel these things for both Cat and Tacitus? Is that right? Is that correct? Is that acceptable? Am I even feeling exactly the same thing?

            Ugh, life is so taxing.

 

~

 

I have just had another stellar day at school. I had the pleasure of another Classical Civilisation lesson, in which we began to read that great work of literature, Homer’s _Odyssey_. As one may expect of a young man of my calibre, I read this book back when I was a child, so this class was already proving to be simple. Pah, I translated it from the original Ancient Greek when I was fifteen!

            So, whilst an inept ex-state school student stumbled over Homer’s beautiful words, butchering them as he read them aloud, I sat with my highlighters and annotated my copy. Cat looked over my shoulder as I did this, putting his hand on my shoulder so suddenly that I almost audibly gasped. Ah, his touch was electric!

            “Catullus!” Mr Claudius barked. “I said that it was your turn to read!”

            Cat whipped his head round and smiled sweetly at him.

            “I’m sorry, sir. Where were we?”

            I pointed out the paragraph, and Cat used my book to read the next part out. I could not help but sit back and just _listen_ to his gorgeous voice. He read aloud perfectly, enunciating each word wonderfully, but there were hints of some sort of regional accent that was extremely endearing. He was not too high-pitched, but not too deep and monotone. He made the words come alive, injecting emotion and animation into every line of Homer. By the gods, I could almost _feel_ the hot sun of Ithaca beating down upon my skin.

            Next, it was my turn to read, and in comparison to Cat, I sounded like a drone. I became extremely self-conscious of every word that was coming from my lips, very aware that Cat was looking at me. Was he judging me for my accent, my tone of voice, my enunciation? Is he that sort of person?

            “Hey,” Cat whispered to me, after I had finished reading aloud.

            “Yes?” I answered, keeping my voice low.

            “This Saturday, there’s this movie that comes ou--”

            “Yes!” I replied impulsively. I slapped my hand over my mouth as soon as I did this, for I was mortified that I’d let the word slip out, when Cat had not even finished speaking.

            “Yes? So you’ll go with me?” His eyes were veritably sparkling.

            “Certainly, as long as I have the details.”

            Is this a date? Are we going on a date? Did Cat just ask me out on a date? I decided that I would ask Tacitus that afternoon, when I had Economics with him.

            Thus, I did.

            “Tacitus, my friend, I have a question to pose,” I said, as the class was getting on with some questions from our textbook.

            “What might that be, Plinius?” he asked, turning away from his conversation with Hadrian with an almost imperceptible hint of exasperation.

            “This Saturday, I have been invited to the cinema by that boy in my Classical Civilisation class, Catullus. What has been vexing me is the matter of whether this could be called a da--”

            “Saturday! Did you say Saturday?” he interrupted, his voice rising a number of octaves.

            “Yes, I did… What is so significant about that day?”

            “Ah, I forgot to tell you!” he exclaimed. “This Saturday, I am hosting a house party! I forgot to say that you were invited!”

            My heart and stomach sank. What a quandary I now found myself in! How could I choose between Cat and Tacitus?

            “Could I perhaps take Catullus to this party with me?” I asked, congratulating myself for coming up with such an ingenious idea.

            “I’m afraid that I cannot allow plus-ones; the guest list is extremely exclusive. It is only the Secundi Filii, and certain people whom I esteem highly. I have never met this Catullus-- although he sounds like an upstanding, high-class gentleman-- and anyway, it is too late to add people to my guest list. I apologize.”

            I frowned, distressed at the current situation. How could I turn down Cat’s invitation for a date (or whatever it truly is)? But how too could I turn down an invitation to Tacitus’ exclusive house party? This could be my ticket to the heart of the Secundi Filii. _This could be my way of obtaining a blazer._ But disappointing Cat would shatter my heart into thousands of tiny fragments.

            Once school had ended, I sought out Cat, who was walking through the school car park, where, incidentally, my litter was parked. Just as he stopped next to a stylish mint green moped and retrieved some keys from his satchel, I called for him.

            “Plinius!” he exclaimed, waving at me. “Do I call you Plinius? Is that what you want me to call you?”

            “Of course, whatever you want to call me is fine,” I replied, feeling my cheeks blush red.

            “Okay. What’s up?”

            “I have worrying news. My friend Tacitus has just invited me to a house party which he is hosting, and it occurs at exactly the same time as the film.”

            “Shit,” said Cat. “Are you gonna go?”

            “I would like to, but I would also like to see you on that night. Unfortunately, I am not allowed to bring you to the party, so that method of resolution is not possible.”

            “Ah, I’m sure I can just turn up.”

            “There is apparently a guest list, so if you do arrive at the door, you will be turned away. This is so incredibly vexing!”

            “If I turn up with enough people they’ll have to let us in,” said Cat, looking like he was coming up with a clever plan. “Or if I bring certain… _substances_...”

            My heart quickened at such a… such a _naughty_ proposition. Oh, Cat! He was willing to break so many rules for me, just so that I would not have to choose between him and Tacitus! I could have embraced him in that moment.

            “This sounds like a plan,” I managed to say, my heart pounding in my chest like a legion on forced march.

            “Where do I need to go then? Where’s Tacitus’ house?”

            I gave him the address, which he noted down on his phone. Then he stepped onto his moped, turned on the engine and zoomed away. I bit my lip at this sight, inexplicably finding this action extremely attractive.

            So it is settled. I get to attend an exclusive party, securing my place in the Secundi Filii. And I get to do so with Cat! This is the best outcome that I could have possibly envisaged. Ah, I do not think that I will be able to sleep tonight for excitement! I shall have to calm my racing mind with a relaxing spot of billiards, or perhaps I shall read _The Canterbury Tales_ , which my uncle recently gave me as a small token for my excellent GCSE results. (I got 14 A*s, as you can well imagine. And this was not my only present, but it would take far too long to recount everything that I received.)

 


	5. 6th September, 2015

06/09/15

 

By the gods, Bacchus blessed us with an excellent night last night… My head is still throbbing. I did not get to write in my diary yesterday, for nothing happened except the party, and after the party I was somewhat… intoxicated. Over the whole of today, I have been piecing together some sort of narrative to relate, for I remember almost naught of what occurred. That is the sign of a successful party, is it not?

Nevertheless, I shall present my night in continuous prose, although it is a mixture of the stories from multiple people, and there are numerous gaps. I shall also construct the approximate dialogue of the night, in order to create a comprehensive tale without withholding speech, one of the most important aspects of a narrative. (Tacitus does things like this in his History essays-- fabricating speeches similar to what historical figures may have said-- and he does this with extreme accuracy. As you know, my goal in life is to emulate his genius, and thus I will attempt to copy this storytelling technique.)

            I met Cat at the end of Tacitus’ drive, and we pressed the buzzer to open the gates. After a brief conversation with the household staff member through the small speaker above the buzzer, the gates grandly slid open and we wandered inside, my litter-bearers finding the parking area and placing my litter down. (I had notified them that they should go home after this, for I would be out a while, and they are certainly not getting paid for standing around, waiting for me. I instructed them to go home and do various jobs, such as polishing my Corinthian bronzes.)

            Now, where were we? I am afraid that I have a tendency to go on tangents. Ah, yes, Cat and I-- we walked up the long off-white gravel drive to the main house, which stood proudly before us like some ancient temple. A number of blazing torches illuminated our way, and as we walked up the marble steps to the front door, we were greeted by several doormen.

            “Names, please,” one of the doormen demanded.

            “Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus and Gaius Valerius Catullus,” I replied.

            He looked at the guest list, which was attached to a smart clipboard, and frowned slightly.

            “A Gaius Valerius Catullus--” (this he pronounced appallingly)-- “is not on the guest list. I’m afraid you’ll have to leave.”

            “Would this change your mind?” Cat asked, holding up a few small bags containing what I assumed was marijuana.

            The doorman narrowed his eyes at us.

            “I shall have to send for Cornelius Tacitus, in order that he might give the final word.”

            Some moments later, Tacitus appeared at the door, wiping some white powder from his nose.

            “What seems to be the problem here, chaps?” he asked, speaking loudly and slurring his words. “Oh my gods! Come in! I’ve been waiting for someone to turn up with more weed!”

            “Sir, he isn’t on the g--”

            “Oh, Tarquin, do shut up. I don’t care! The more the merrier! Come in, come in! What’s your name then, lad?”

            “I’m Cat… Catullus, I mean,” Cat replied, as Tacitus seized the bags of marijuana.

            “Ah, I have heard of you! You are so much more attractive in person!”

            At this point I assume that Cat blushed, for he told me that he had spent a long time choosing what to wear and how to present himself for this party. I admit that I do not remember what he was wearing, but I believe that it was a semi-formal ensemble, perhaps including a slim-fitting suit jacket. I shall have to ask him.

            Tacitus steered us into the room where most of the guests were hanging about, drinking and taking various illicit substances. Cat tells me that Tacitus shoved a silver platter with lines of white powder upon it in my face, but I politely declined and made a bee-line for the ice bucket of Prosecco.

            This, of course, is when I began to get drunk. I am told that I finished an entire bottle of Prosecco, then moved on to a Jeroboam of champagne. (For those plebs who are unfamiliar of the word in this context, it is a bottle size corresponding to four average-sized champagne bottles.) I finished this as well, then devoted the rest of the evening to Bacchic pursuits.

            Apparently, I was extremely confident and forward with people, and-- O, how I blush at this-- got Cat to sit on my lap as I put my arms around his waist. I also allegedly told Tacitus how much I adored him. If this is true, I am utterly horrified, and fear that I will never be able to speak to him again. But would he have remembered? Cat said that he was extremely high and drunk, and passed out at some point in the early hours of the morning.

            Cat has also informed me that some of the other guests at the party are interested in befriending me. My only explanation for this is that I am sinking down to the level of the plebs, by partaking in common activities such as ‘getting pissed’ and smoking marijuana. (I must admit, I did both.) Said guests are acquaintances of Cat, and have been in contact with him throughout the day, arranging some sort of meeting to which I will be invited. This is quite thrilling, for anyone who even vaguely knows Cat must be a wonderful person, but I am afraid that this will pull me further away from the Secundi Filii. They would hardly want to talk to me if I were friends with… working class people. Even middle class people are questionable. I can tolerate Cat’s middle class-ness, but no one else’s. That is probably because other aspects of Cat’s being make up for his lack of wealth.

            I am utterly terrified to return to school tomorrow. What if Tacitus remembers the scandalous things that I said to him? What if this has ruined our friendship forever? My stomach is turning as I think of this… O, I feel so uneasy.

 


	6. 7th September, 2015

07/09/15

 

Our first lesson was Economics, which put me on edge, for I sit next to Tacitus. Normally, he sits quietly and gets on with his work, or speaks clandestinely to Hadrian-- so I would be unlikely to notice if he _did_ start ignoring me-- but nevertheless I was worried that there would be an extremely awkward atmosphere between us, and the lesson would be torturous.

            I was wrong.

            As soon as I sat in my seat, Tacitus greeted me with an enthusiastic “ _Salve_!” I greeted him in return, and he initiated a lively conversation. How my heart soared at this!

            “So, Plinius, how are you? Did you enjoy the party?”

            “Very much so, thank you. It was highly enjoyable.”

            “You _remember_ it? How? You were utterly smashed!”

            My cheeks burned hot and red. “I do not remember many details of the night, I must admit…”

            He raised one eyebrow, and his eyes widened. “Do you not? What _do_ you remember?”

            Fear coursed through me like a knife to the guts. I decided to lie, taking advantage of the fact that he thought I did not remember any of it.

            “Oh, just smoking a little marijuana… Spilling champagne down my jacket… Not much, really. Just small flashes of a wider story.”

            “Is that it? You remember nothing else?”

            “No, that is all I remember. Why, what happened?” By this point I was certain that he had remembered my declaration of love.

            “Nothing, nothing…” he said, shaking his head.

A teacher entered the room, someone different to our usual teacher, Mr Cato. This teacher was a short and rotund man, his forehead sweating and his face flushed. He pushed his round glasses up his nose and coughed to get the attention of the class.

“Good morning, students, I am Dr Winterbottom,” he announced, sitting down at the computer in order to take the register. “I am taking your lesson today, since Mr Cato is away. I’m afraid that I don’t know any of you, so when I take the register I shall be reading out your full names.”

This gladdened me, for most teachers do not ever do this, and I very much enjoy it when teachers read out my full name. If they do not, they tend to call me ‘Gaius’, which, due to Roman naming traditions, is inaccurate.

So, Dr Winterbottom began to read out the full names of the members of our class. He got past four people before he stopped and frowned at his computer screen.

“By Jove, what a long name…” he muttered.

Immediately, Tacitus and I looked at Hadrian, for we knew that it was him.

“Right…” said Dr Winterbottom. “Here we go… Imperator Caesar-- ah, there’s brackets here-- Son of the Deified Trajan, semicolon, Grandson of the Deified Nerva-- close brackets-- Traianus Hadrianus Augustus, comma, High Pontiff, comma, Fourteen Times Voted the Tribunician Power, comma, Thrice Consul, comma, Father of His Country. This has got to be some kind of joke--”

“Present,” answered Hadrian politely, putting up his hand.

Dr Winterbottom’s piggy eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open in an expression of utter incredulity and horror.

“Is this a cruel trick, son? What are you playing at? Did you hack into the system and do this, just to mess with people?”

“No,” replied Hadrian, with serene calmness. “It is my legal name.”

Tacitus and I were sobbing with laughter by this point. O, how hilarious it was to see common English people fumble over our superior names!

“What on earth do I even call you?” Dr Winterbottom spluttered. “Imperator?”

“Most people call me Hadrian.”

Dr Winterbottom placed his head gently against his desk and sighed heavily.

“Well, Hadrian, do not disrupt the lesson like this again.”

Hadrian gave him a somewhat amused, somewhat bemused, look. Plebs’ antics certainly are baffling at times.

Dr Winterbottom continued to take the register, my heart swelling with Roman pride as he read out my name. After a brief introduction to the lesson, he set us off on some work and sat by the front desk in order to do some marking. He did not request silence, so the rowdy students took advantage of this and began to chatter amongst themselves.

“So, Plinius, you _really_ don’t remember what happened at the party?” asked Tacitus.

“No, I do not,” I lied, feeling beads of sweat prick out on my brow.

“Nothing? Not a single detail?”

“As I said, I remember small, insignificant parts, but nothing of note. Why, did something happen?”

I could have sunk into the ground and wept at that moment. Why on earth did I say that _again_? Why was I courting this confession from him? Why did I want to hear from Tacitus’ lips that I had told him I loved him? O, if only I had remained quiet, and avoided stirring up drama!

“Well…” said Tacitus, causing my heart to race and my stomach to turn. “I mean, I was rather drunk… and high… but… well, I seem to remember… ah, but you were drunk too… goodness, I… well… you… nothing.”

“Oh, okay,” was all I managed to say in reply.

“It doesn’t matter, Plinius.”

He did not speak to me for the rest of the lesson.

 

~

 

That afternoon, I had a study period, which I took in the library. As I quietly got on with some homework, I noticed out of the corner of my eye Suetonius slowly approaching the empty chair next to me.

            “Hey, Plinius,” he whispered, not wanting to disturb the studious atmosphere in the room. “Can I sit here?”

            “Of course, my friend, feel free,” I replied.

            He sat on the chair and laid out some folders, textbooks and stationery on the desk. He began to read and take notes from a Chemistry book, when he stopped and turned to me.

            “I haven’t spoken to you in _ages_ ; how are you?” he asked.

            I could not help but smile at this, for many happy memories of Year 9-- when Suetonius and I were the closest of friends-- were recalled to my mind. Before he was scandalously taken away to the Secundi Filii by Clarus, we shared some good and enjoyable times. In truth, we had not spoken candidly, one-on-one, since then.

            “I am very well, thank you. And it is true, we have not spoken in some time.”

            “I do miss our chats, my friend; however, extraneous and varied circumstances have robbed us of the time to talk.” He ran his hand through his glossy, caramel-coloured hair, which he had been growing long since the beginning of Year 10.

(I found, and still find this utterly absurd. A true Roman would never let his hair grow, to resemble an odious barbarian. I do not understand why Suetonius ever considered it to be a good idea.)

There were a few moments of silence as I quickly finished the last sentence of an essay, and Suetonius jumped at the chance to bring up the topic that he came to discuss:

“So, this morning I sat with your new friend in Chemistry.” He had a small smirk on his face, and one eyebrow was raised.

“You did?” I said, after a brief pause.

“Catullus, is it?”

“Well, he prefers Cat, but--”

“He is great!” Suetonius interrupted. “He is so funny! So charming! So eloquent! How high-born is he?”

“I confess that I do not know,” I replied, glowing at my friend’s warm praise of Cat. “Although not as wealthy as any members of the Secundi Filii, his name and the fact that he speaks Latin suggest that he has Roman ancestry.”

“That means nothing, dear Plinius. The lowest and vilest plebeians spoke Latin, and had Roman names; their descendants would not be worthy of the Secundi Filii. If he cannot trace his ancestry back to at least an equestrian family, he is nothing in our eyes.”

My mouth fell open, so utterly offended at this insult I was.

“Yes, of course, Cat would not be able to join the Secundi Filii if his forefathers were common plebs, but he certainly is not ‘nothing’!” I retorted. “Can you not judge him on the content of his character, rather than his ancestry? He is one of the most admirable young men I know!”

“Gaius, this is a library, be quiet!” the librarian barked. “If you can’t shut up, go to the common room!”

“At least call me by my full name if you are going to tell me off,” I replied, inwardly praising myself for my sharp wit and swift delivery.

“Out. Now.”

“Do not tell me what to do!”

“ _GET OUT_.”

Sniffing pointedly, I picked up my belongings and stormed from the room. How dare that pleb tell me what to do? How _dare_ she call me ‘Gaius’? Sometimes the commoners really frustrate me.


	7. 8th September, 2015

08/09/15

 

In my Law class, in which today I sat alone at the front row (Tacitus was at the back, undoubtedly avoiding me), a tall and well-dressed young man came to sit next to me. He was slightly plump, but his suit fit him well, and his hair was cropped short in a Roman style, with small wisps of grey running through it. He looked far older than the usual age to be in Year 12, but his round face lent him a somewhat youthful air.

            “Good day, my friend,” he said, revealing an impeccable accent and flawless enunciation.

            “Good day,” I replied, unsure of why he was suddenly coming to sit with me.

            “Are you Catullus’ new friend, Plinius?”

            “Yes, indeed I am; who might you be?”

            “Call me Regulus,” he said, switching into Latin, my native tongue and the one that falls most softly and pleasantly upon the ear.

            “Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Regulus.” I held out my hand, which he duly shook. I was taken aback by the sweat that coated his palms, and cut the handshake short before too much moisture transferred to my skin.

            “Are you enjoying Law so far?”

            “Oh, indeed, very much so. In fact, I desire to become a lawyer upon leaving sixth form.”

            “As do I, dear Plinius. To which universities are you considering applying?”

            Just as I was about to answer, our teacher marched into the room, the first words leaving his lips being “Shh! Be quiet!”

            Thus began the lesson. Mostly it was our teacher lecturing us on the basics of criminal law-- and by this I mean the _very_ basics, for this was only our second Law lesson-- so Regulus had no more opportunity to talk to me. For the entire time, he sat back in his chair, idly playing with his pen and neglecting to take notes. I filled up three sheets of paper with my notes, and at the end of the double lesson, offered to let him borrow them in order that he could copy them.

            “Oh, I have an excellent memory, do not worry,” he assured me. “I’ll remember all of what Mr Cicero said. It was pretty simple anyway.”

            “Indeed. Most of it was covered in the introductory law textbook I purchased this summer for preparatory reading,” I replied.

            “Now then, Plinius, let me get onto what I’ve been waiting the entire lesson to ask you. Catullus and I-- as well as our extensive group of friends-- have been discussing the possibility of an outing, to which you will be invited. Although, this time, don’t bring quite so much champagne!”

            He paused to have a small chuckle.

            “So,” he continued, “we have decided on an evening meal at Nando’s, that most illustrious of chicken establishments. We shall be going on Friday, meeting at approximately eight o’clock. Would you be available to come to this?”

            “Certainly. Although, I must confess, I have never been to this so-called ‘Nando’s’. How many Michelin stars does it have?”

            “None, bu--”

            “None!” I cried. “How could such a place possibly serve edible food, worthy of an upstanding gentleman such as yourself!”

            “Oh, trust me, Plinius, their chicken is to die for. You will be pleasantly surprised.”

            I eventually agreed to coming to Nando’s, and when I got home that afternoon, I cracked open my map and attempted to locate the place. To my dismay, it was not marked, so I got my butler Jonty to look it up on my iPad (although I would not really call it ‘mine’, for I have never touched the thing-- I simply get Jonty to operate it on my command).


	8. 11th September, 2015

11/09/15

 

I have had an abysmal evening. I shall relate it to you in chronological order, so that you may marvel at the increasing chaos and discomfort that I experienced.

My last period of the day was a study period, for which I met Cat in the library. I had decided to do my Economics homework, for I had just had it last lesson, and wanted to complete it whilst the knowledge was fresh. I laid out my textbook, fountain pen, notepad and folder on a table, whilst Cat sat next to me and got out some Chemistry work. We were soon interrupted by a large group of people loudly stomping into the library and shouting raucously.

“Cat! What the hell are you doing?” one girl, whose afro was dyed a pastel pink colour, called. “Let’s go town and hang for a bit before Nando’s!”

“Yeah, come on, fuck this study period!” a tall and lanky boy concurred.

I was about to point out to them that this was a library, and the librarian would not be impressed with this behaviour, but when I glanced at the front desk, she was not there.

The group, consisting of about eight people, sauntered over to our table.

“Plinius!” Regulus exclaimed, fighting his way to the front of the group. “Want to skip study period and go out with us?”

“ _Skip study period_?” I repeated, utterly appalled. “We will get severely punished!”

“No one checks, dude,” a boy, wearing an oversized plaid shirt and low-hanging jeans, put in. “We’ve done it loads of times and no one’s ever found out.”

I harrumphed. What a preposterous thing they were suggesting!

“It’s fine, Plinius, don’t worry about it,” Cat assured me. Coming from him, the idea of skipping study period sounded so much more attractive and safe.

“I suppose I shall come with you. If any teachers ever hear about this…”

“That’s the spirit, my friend!” said Regulus, slapping me cordially on the back.

So, we eloped from the library (is eloped the right word?) and walked-- well, I was in my litter, and Cat was on his moped-- to a bus stop, in order to take a bus to the centre of town. I have never taken public transport before, and was not planning on starting today, so I politely declined and told them that I would continue on in my litter. Immediately, everyone in the group started begging me to take them as well-- for I suspect the plebs have never experienced the luxury of a litter. I begrudgingly allowed Regulus to join me, for his pleas were the loudest.

And oh, by all the gods, what a mistake that was. For the entire journey, he would not stop talking. He went on and on and on about a myriad of mundane, trite topics, using far too many words and a far too grandiloquent style. Although he used some impressive vocabulary, each and every word was empty, with an utterly mind-numbing dullness that made me want to bury my head in a bucket of sand and stay there. For all his ostentatious rhetoric he spoke not one useful or interesting word. It was one of the most vapid, pointless monologues I have ever listened to.

Finally, we reached Nando’s. At this point I prayed that Regulus would stop talking, but he did not. He practically ignored his friends, deciding instead to recite the entirety of a play script that he’d been working on in his Drama lessons. Now, I normally enjoy a reading or recitation, but only of _good_ work. Cat, for example-- I could listen to him reading his poems all night. But Regulus! O, Regulus! Like his extempore speaking, his script was devoid of substance, or anything worthwhile. Nothing happened; no thrilling action, no witty turns of phrase, no powerful and emotional soliloquies. I could have cried with boredom.

The group of us sat at a table, and Regulus came to the end of his play. A moment of silence passed, in which Regulus looked at me expectantly, as if I had to _applaud_ for that disgraceful performance. I simply gave him a small smile and a slight incline of the head, pretending to be appreciative of the stream of garbage that had just poured from his lips.

I breathed a deep, deep sigh of relief when I turned and found Cat on my other side. He handed me a menu, which I took, then promptly threw on the table when I felt its greasiness. A look of revulsion crossed my face, and I retrieved a pair of white silk gloves from my school bag. (I always keep a spare pair on hand, in case I need to come into contact with any slimy or plebeian things.)

A frown on my face, I then began to read what dishes this ‘Nando’s’ had to offer. None of it particularly grabbed me, so I asked Cat what he recommended.

“All of it’s good,” he informed me. “If this is your first time, you should probably get something simple like the chicken wings, but it’s up to you.”

“I think I shall get the quarter chicken,” I decided, “for it seems to be one of the only things on the menu which can be eaten with cutlery.”

“Part of the fun is eating with your fingers!” a girl interjected.

“I would not call eating like a barbarian ‘fun’,” I replied.

For some reason, she, and a number of others round the table, laughed at this remark. Was this in agreement, or because they thought I was joking? Believe me, I was not.

After some idle chatter, Regulus asked the group what they were all ordering. Everyone duly replied, and he noted it down on his smartphone. He then asked for money, so everybody started rifling through their wallets and purses for cash. I followed suit, unrolling my crisp £20 notes and taking one from the hefty stack.

“Aw, don’t you have anything smaller?” Regulus whined. “I can’t really give them loads of twenties, Plinius… Plin…”

“You are not getting any money from me if you call me Plin,” I snapped.

“How about Pliny?” He paused to guffaw disgustingly. “Pliny! Oh my goodness! I am a genius! Pliny, Pliny, Pliny…”

He began to chant this absurd nickname, and soon the entire table had joined in (with the exception of Cat). They were banging the table with their fists and slamming the floor with their feet, saying “Pliny, Pliny, Pliny, Pliny…” like some wild cult invoking a barbarian god. They started getting faster and faster, their voices rising in a horrific crescendo until they were bawling “ _PLINY_!” at the top of their lungs like women seeing the soul of a sacrifice down to the Underworld.

Suddenly, from my throat, a ferocious roar burst out.

“ _DI IMMORTALES! TACETE!_ ” I bellowed, my composure slipping so swiftly that I forgot to speak English. I got up suddenly, the force of this throwing my chair backwards, and stormed from the restaurant. Behind me I heard the uproarious laughter of the vile commoners from both my table and others, fuelling my fire of utter rage. This is the last time that I will ever interact with plebs!

“Ooh, looking after your little _boyfriend_ , are we?” I heard Regulus cry, in an obnoxious high-pitched voice. I looked over my shoulder to see what on earth he was talking about, and my heart skipped a beat when I noticed Cat taking his coat, getting up from his seat and making for the door.

He stood next to me outside the restaurant, leaning on the wall and looking at me with a soft, comforting expression (and I am not at all embarrassed in describing it as such). He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, shaking his head and sighing.

“I’m… I’m so sorry… about them…” he eventually said. “They can be… kind of… I dunno. Just… you know, intense.”

“Do not worry, Cat, I am well used to dealing with those sorts of people. I expected more from Regulus, with his obvious Roman blood! O, he is a disgrace to our noble ancestors.”

“Aren’t you embarrassed? Pissed off? Don’t you feel seriously humiliated? Like, God, if that was me, I’d be sobbing!”

“The actions of the commoners do not concern me. Let them think what they like. They are not worthy of being in my exalted presence.”

“They’re my friends, though, so…”

My heart sank. What a misstep, what a faux pas I had just made! One never insults the friends of a friend! My entire body grew cold with fear. Had I now ruined my relationship with Cat?

“Oh, no, by the gods, I did not mean it like that!” I spluttered. “They are just… I just do not gel with them, considering…” I gestured to the restaurant, inside which the group of profligates was laughing and bantering.

“No, I get it, I understand. I’d be pissed too, if I got invited out by one of my friends, and their friends pulled shit like that on me. But, really, they are nice. I went to secondary school with them. I mean, I didn’t really know them when we were actually _in_ secondary school, but still… we kind of grouped together here… yeah. They’re alright. They’re nice people. I guess they can sometimes be kinda dickish.”

I sighed, relieved that I had not truly offended Cat.

“So…” he said, after a pause. “I don’t suppose you wanna go back in there, do you?”

“I would rather be put on one of Augustus’ proscription lists than go back in there.”

“... Wow. Okay. Where shall we go, then?”

“Where do you recommend? I am not familiar with this area of town.”

Cat did not speak for some time, his brow furrowed, deep in thought. My heart gave a slight flutter, like the gently beating wings of a butterfly, upon perceiving his appearance. Somehow, in the lurid orange glow of the streetlight, he looked even more enchanting than usual. His brilliant green eyes were illuminated, flashing like the shower of sparks that spray from two swords when they first clash. Stark, black shadows fell across his face, accentuating his cheekbones. The parts that were not in darkness seemed to glow almost divinely, and the artificial light from above highlighted his smooth skin and the freckles across his nose and cheeks. Locks of his wild, unkempt hair were tinted by the bright orange of the streetlamp, creating a sort of halo around his head. Despite the fact that he was under harsh, unforgiving lighting, he looked ethereal, like the personification of a mild summer morning, or a light spring breeze. Words and breath caught in my throat as I gazed.

And no, I am not ashamed to have written those words, which one may call hyperbolic and too poetic. In that moment, Cat _was_ poetry, almost as beautiful as the verses that he writes. No, I am not ashamed of that sentence either.

So, back to my tale. Cat eventually suggested going to the park, since the sun was going down and we would be able to watch the sunset and the subsequent appearance of the stars. My heart started hammering in my chest, and my breathing quickened. What a romantic meeting this had turned out to be!

Sadly, things did not go as well as I was hoping.

Just as Cat mounted his moped, and I ascended to my litter, Regulus scuttled out of Nando’s and started shouting at us.

“Where the _fuck_ are you going?” he screeched. “Come back! I was only joking with that whole business, Pliny! I like you really!”

“If you call him that again, I sw--” Cat began.

At that moment, the rest of Regulus’ cronies rushed through the door and hurled chicken at me. Screaming, I vainly attempted to close the curtains of my litter, but the vile poultry still penetrated. My suit was utterly ruined by the sauce, and all the upholstery in the litter was stained. Even though I bellowed at them to cease fire, they continued to pelt me.

After a few more seconds, the disgusting plebs had had their fill, and wandered back inside to order replacements for the dinners that they had just wasted. I gingerly parted the curtains of my litter, checked that all was clear, and stepped out.

My heart sank in my breast when I saw Cat leaning against his moped, his head in his hands, his shoulders gently shaking with what were undoubtedly sobs. Rapid thoughts flew through my mind: what should I do? Should I approach and comfort him? Should I leave him to compose himself? I had not even an iota of an idea what to do. I was useless! Utterly useless!

I slowly ambled towards him, trying to think of words that might soothe him.

“Um… umm…” was all that ended up coming out of my mouth.

“This was such a fuckup…” he said, almost inaudibly. “This was the worst night ever… Fuck… You probably hate me now, don’t you?”

“What?!” I shrieked, making Cat look up at me suddenly. “How could I possibly hate you? What have you done wrong?”

“My friends… my fucking friends… they are such assholes… I can’t believe they would do this to you!”

“That doesn’t mean that I should be angry with _you_ , does it? Do not worry, Cat, nothing you could ever do would make me hate you.”

I cursed myself for coming on too strong. I wasn’t being _too_ obviously flirtatious, was I?

Cat looked up, wiping the tear tracks from his cheeks. He managed to give me a small smile, which, after a few seconds, grew into a sunny, wide, warm grin. Then he leapt up and hugged me, and my entire world stopped.

O, it was indescribable! How could words possibly convey my joy, my euphoria at this event? How could words possibly convey the utter sense of peace, comfort and tranquility that enveloped me? How could words possibly convey how Cat embraced me; how his body pressed into mine; his warmth, his scent? I truly and utterly believe that Venus, that mighty and beautiful goddess, was smiling upon me that day, with her son Cupid at her side, pricking me with his sweet and dangerous arrows. The moment that I got home that evening, I rushed to our household shrine and prostrated myself in front of it, crying praises to the gods for giving me this day, pouring offerings of wine and olive oil onto the fire.

The hug lasted mere seconds, and an overwhelming emptiness, coldness almost, filled me-- although can one be filled with emptiness?-- when Cat pulled away. We looked at each other for endless, endless moments, simply smiling, reflecting, basking in the afterglow, the residual warmth of our contact. It was at that moment when I knew that I did not think of him as just a friend, and that certainly he was at least _considering_ that very same thing. But who can know others’ minds, when one’s own is so addled and intoxicated by love?


	9. 13th September, 2015

13/09/15

 

Last night, I cleansed myself from my disgusting encounter with Regulus and his little chums by immersing myself in the company of illustrious people. Yes, I _know_ that the embrace with Cat was one of the most beautiful things I have ever experienced, but the ‘Pliny’ nickname, the chicken-throwing incident… ugh. It almost ruined the night. I would have considered the night an utter shambles, if Cat had not give me that mind-blowing hug.

            Now, as I was saying, last night I went to a memorial dinner for my father. You see, he started a law firm from his own expense and on his own initiative, then reached the heights of fame and fortune in the legal world. When he was at the height of his power, in the golden period of his career, he was tragically killed in a hunting accident, and I was adopted by my uncle. I was only four when this happened, so I did not understand the true magnitude of the man’s achievements or of my loss, but as I have grown up I have realised what a wonderful father Fate robbed from me.

These gatherings are held every year by his law firm, and all of the most prestigious, famous and influential individuals involved in law attend, to pay their respects, commemorate and reminisce about my father, and make contacts. For any up-and-coming lawyer, it is extremely helpful to be invited to the Caecilius Memorial Dinner, for one’s career will undoubtedly be boosted through connections amongst distinguished people, or even offers for jobs.

And why did I attend? Well, is it not obvious?-- I am extremely interested in law as a profession. Ever since I watched a video of a trial in court, back when I was around nine, I have been fascinated by it. Over the years, I collected and read a number of law books, and kept up to date with the latest developments in the world of law. Each new law or act passed fascinates me, and I enjoy following trials; not just the famous, highly-publicised ones, but the smaller and less well-known ones as well. As soon as I complete sixth form and A-Levels, I shall be progressing onto university to study Law, and then begin my legal career.

In the early evening, the guests of the memorial party started to arrive at my house, and were treated to some canapés and glasses of champagne. I descended from my room in impeccable white tie and greeted them.

“My dear young Plinius!” exclaimed one of my late father’s colleagues, Henry Strudwick. “How you have grown!”

We shook hands, and I said a courteous hello to him.

“Is this your first Caecilius Memorial Dinner?” he asked.

“Indeed it is, sir,” I replied, using respectful language, since he was senior and superior to me. “My uncle deemed me old enough this year to attend, and make contacts in the world of law which could be useful to my future career.”

“Your uncle is a very sensible man, my dear Plinius. Although, in terms of legal work, he, of course, could never match up to your father. Speaking of him, I have been discussing with the director of Caecilius Associates about offering you a position or internship at the firm. As the son of Caecilius, you are rightfully welcome to get a job here at any time you wish.”

“That would be ex--” I began to say, before another lawyer rushed over to me to greet me.

The evening went about generally in this way. I had many brief conversations with various people involved in law, most of them because they knew and loved my father, and all of them offered me work at their respective firms.

Soon, the dinner was ready, and we went into the dining room to eat. (This is not our usual family dining room, but the one that we use simply for entertaining guests.) It is a great and high-roofed hall, with ornate decoration and mouldings all over the walls and ceiling, looming Corinthian columns, and paintings and busts of the Plinii and Caecilii staring down upon the guests. I smiled as I perceived the large painting of me in full Roman military dress upon one wall; a very recent work, for which I sat only last summer.

A swarm of waiters and butlers swept into the room, silver platters balanced on their hands. Each guest received their first course, and the meal began. We went through several delectable courses, my uncle at one head of the table, and the director of Caecilius Associates at the other, controlling the frequency of the rounds of wine just like at an ancient Athenian symposium. I sat to the left of my uncle, with an associate of my late father’s law firm on my other side. We had a stimulating discussion on many philosophical topics, and at the end, he offered me yet another job at Caecilius Associates.

My uncle tapped a knife against his champagne glass to get everyone’s attention. A hushed silence filled the room, and he stood up, looking impressive in his full Navy parade uniform, which had been lying in his wardrobe for years since his retirement from his position as admiral.

“Distinguished guests, I welcome you to my household for the Twelfth Annual Caecilius Memorial Dinner,” he began. “As always, at this point of the evening come a number of speeches, remembering our dear departed Caecilius. If you would care to take a look at your place-card, on the reverse side there is a small programme of those who shall be delivering them. Firstly, it is my dear nephew, the only son of Caecilius, attending this dinner for the first time: Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus.”

Yes, I forgot to mention-- I had been asked by my uncle to write a speech for delivery at the dinner. I have been writing it since I finished my GCSEs, and only a few days ago did I consider it finished, revised and perfected. With a knot of fear in my stomach-- for who would not feel nervous at such an event?-- I stood up, taking a deep and shaky breath. Since I had been practicing for months, the entire speech was totally memorised in my head word-for-word, so I did not need notes or cards to remind me of what to say. I let myself grin as I considered how many of the other people giving a speech tonight would be using prompts.

“My distinguished guests, friends and colleagues of my father,” I said, in a loud and confident voice. “I am honoured to be at this gathering of illustrious people, in the face of whose high status and prestige I can only cower. I am but a youth, unformed and inexperienced, amongst those of you in the prime of your careers. I am utterly in awe, and in the tone and content of my speech you will see that I am completely deferent to you. The fact that I have been permitted to attend this dinner is an honour for which I am ever grateful, and I hope that you will listen to me, despite my years.

“Now, my father. There is much that I could say about him, so much that I could not think of what to say first. So, I will use an analogy. I am Telemachus. Telemachus, whose father left when he was too young to remember. Telemachus, who only knew about his father from what others told him. Telemachus, whose life goal was to emulate his father, and become a man worthy of being called his son. In many ways, my own life story mirrors his, and at some points, it matches perfectly. Caecilius, my father, as I have been told, was a truly great man, an Odyssean figure, whose fame reaches the heavens. I am often compared to him, from my complexion, the shape of my jaw, my hair, my nose, to the colour and shape of my eyes; just as Telemachus was compared to his father by Nestor and Menelaus.

“The Telemachy, the earliest books of the _Odyssey_ , were about Telemachus’ developments, as a character and as a man. He must go on a journey, just as Odysseus did, to find knowledge and answers about his absent father. On this journey, he grows up, grows into the role of Odysseus’ son, able to live up to the greatness and fame of his father. One could argue that at the end of Book IV, he has reached this goal; for my analogy, this would mean that, since I am here amongst you (the courts of Nestor and Menelaus, I suppose), I too have reached my goal. But if you argue that he does not fully come to maturity until the end of the poem, once he is reunited with Odysseus, my analogy falls short.

“For I will never be reunited with my father, except in the Underworld after the dread hand of Death has come to claim me. And this breaks my heart. Why did such an outstanding gentleman have to be cruelly snatched away from us? Why did Fate decide to rob the world of such greatness? I cannot even claim to be more miserable and grieving than you, for you all knew him, just as the Achaean commanders knew and loved Odysseus. I cannot have been affected as much as you by his death, for I never truly knew him. All I have are snatches, snapshots of time with him: his warm hand on my shoulder, lying in his lap as we relaxed on the yacht, being hoisted upon his shoulders to view the sprawling cityscape of some foreign place.

“I thought that it would be best to keep my speech short, for I knew that I would be overcome with emotion; and it would be a total embarrassment to be choking, speaking with my voice breaking, having to take pauses to recompose myself. I am not like Arria, who can compose her face and leave her bereavement at the door. My heart still hurts at times for my lost father, but my only hope is that I can continue his legacy, and become a son worthy of the name of Caecilius.”

Tears welling up in my eyes and a lump forming in my throat, I sat down to applause from all the dinner guests. I smiled, feeling the tears stream down my cheeks as grief took over and broke down my defences. I covered my face with my gloved hands, thankful that the next speaker had taken the floor, as it were, so the attention was no longer focused on me.

The next few people to speak were mildly interesting, regaling the guests with amusing and touching anecdotes about my father. I could hardly listen to some of the stories, for I kept bursting into tears, paralysed by grief which I had been unknowingly suppressing for years. In that evening, I learned more about my father than I ever had in my life, and I felt closer to the man, although too late, years too late.

The final speaker of the evening was the director of Caecilius Associates. He was introduced as one Mr. Regulus. This piqued my interest, for was he anything to do with that scoundrel Regulus in my year?

I hoped not. It would have been an utter slap in the face.

Mr. Regulus began his speech, which proved to be highly animated, yet somewhat vapid and mundane. Exactly Regulus’ oratorical style. I broke out in a cold sweat as the man continued to talk, using expressions that were all too familiar, choosing words that only one other man in the world would ever choose.

“I have been thinking about the future of Caecilius Associates, since I am reaching the later years of my life and must soon name who will take over after I retire. My son, Regulus--”

At that moment, I began to burn with anger. My forehead went hot and I started to shake, and my hands curled into fists. Regulus’ father owned Caecilius Associates! _My father’s firm! MY father’s firm!_ This despicable creature was going to pass it down to _REGULUS_ , not the rightful heir: _ME!_ What was this utter bastard thinking?

I kept my fury in check, so as not to embarrass myself in front of these illustrious people. I looked to my uncle, who also had a horrified expression on his face. He glanced at me, and we shared a mutual look of disapproval. No doubt he would be speaking to numerous associates to persuade them to get the elder Regulus to rethink his terrible choice.

The dinner ended before people got too intoxicated, and I returned to my room to undress and think over my dozens of job offers. My pockets were filled with business cards from the lawyers, bulging and ruining the crisp lines of my suit. I threw them all onto my desk sloppily (for I suspected that I was slightly feeling the effects of the champagne I had consumed that night), removed my clothing, prepared myself for bed, then climbed in and fell asleep. Aside from that one, minor, Regulus-related annoyance, it had been a successful evening.

 


	10. 14th September, 2015

14/09/15

 

Mondays are always so catastrophic! Plebs are so terrible! I can barely contain my anger. My pen is shaking in my hand as I write, since my entire body is vibrating with rage. If I never see another commoner again it will be _TOO SOON_.

            I was very much looking forward to my Classical Civilisation lesson in second and third period, for we are studying sculpture from the Archaic to the Late Classical period, a topic that utterly fascinates me. So far, we had only covered the very basics of the course, such as sculpting materials and techniques. This lesson, our teacher had promised us, we would be getting into serious observation, analysis and artistic appraisal of our first statues, the New York and Anavyssos kouroi.

            It all started off very well. We looked at the earlier of the statues, the New York kouros, and went over the various techniques and artistic decisions that had been made in sculpting it. The class seemed to be very adept at picking out lines of symmetry, and the highly stylised geometric forms of its body. Cat made an insightful-- dare I say _genius_ \-- point, which Mr Claudius almost applauded, and I filled up almost half a dozen pages with my detailed notes.

            And then we came onto the Anavyssos kouros. Mr Claudius put a picture of it upon the screen for all to see, and the class erupted into mindless, obscene cackles. They pointed out the ‘hilarious’ face of the statue, with its iconic, expressive and masterful Archaic smile, and the modest genitalia, laughing at its size. I found this incredibly crass and sickening. They were looking at a beautiful piece of art, and all they took away from it was the mouth and the phallus!

            For the entire lesson they were like this, pointing out these two features of the statue at any chance they got. Mr Claudius then showed us a picture of the back view of the kouros-- a sight no less wonderful than the front-- and cries of “Dat ass doe!” (I believe this is how it is spelled) rose up from the students. They are children, complete children.

            Mr Claudius, although a great and kind man, could not control the class, so the last fifteen minutes of the lesson devolved into chaos. No one did the work that he had set us; no one even bothered to look at their folders. Some went off into their own conversations, and the rest continued to laugh at and mock the Anavyssos kouros. Even Cat was on his phone, checking one of his social media accounts! I could only sit in stunned silence at this display of anarchy.

            “Come on, Year 12!” Mr Claudius barked, his voice louder than any time we had ever heard it. “Shut up, all of you! Let’s do the final bit of work on this statue, and we’ll be done. For God’s sake, just concentrate for five more minutes!”

            The class promptly quietened down, and Cat finished up the text that he was writing. Sadly, Mr Claudius noticed his phone at precisely this time.

            “Catullus! Phone away!”

            “I was putting it away, sir,” he replied, in a sincere and apologetic tone.

            “Don’t give me that crap!” He was clearly at his wit’s end. “Hand me the phone, now!”

            “Sir, honestly, I was literally about to--”

            “Do you _want_ a detention, Catullus?”

            With a pointed sigh and eye-roll, Cat handed Mr Claudius his phone.

            “Collect it at the end of the day from my office, and there will be a call home about this.” He paused for a moment, a groan escaping his lips. “Right. Anavyssos. The final thing we have to do is evaluation: how effective is this statue? So, come on, guys, who has any ideas?”

            Needless to say, the class went at it again, with inane comments about the Archaic smile, buttocks and genitalia of the statue. My temper rose, getting hotter and hotter with each word that fell from these plebs’ lips. I turned to Cat, to hopefully get some comfort and assurance that I was not the only one who found the class utterly insufferable, but he was absorbed in writing notes.

            Mr Claudius then asked for one more comment, so I put my hand up and let loose my anger in a well-crafted, well-delivered speech.

            “You utter plebs, all of you! Do you think that this is _funny_? Are the great and noble achievements of this advanced civilisation _funny_ to you? Could _you_ have done better? Could _you_ have produced a more realistic sculpture? Even if you could not, you must appreciate the skill possessed by the artisans that made these important figures. Although, admittedly, they are not greatly realistic or naturalistic, they are nevertheless very cleverly sculpted. The stylised musculature, with its many lines of symmetry, is a stroke of genius. The ‘hilarious’ Archaic smile is highly expressive, conveying how far removed from mundane, human affairs these statues are. It is a godlike attribute. You cannot see that because you are plebs, and you do not appreciate high art such as this.”

            “Plin--” Mr Claudius attempted. I ignored him.

            “I cannot possibly articulate how plebeian you all are, finding humour in the most immature things when faced with work of this character. These are things to be appreciated and respected, not mocked. The taut, round buttocks; the modest and restrained penis-- these are beautiful, representing the ideal male body, which was heroic and even divine. They are not just ‘private parts’, they are parts of a glorious nude figure, displaying the utter beauty and grace of the human form. But of course, all you plebs can think about is how the figure is _naked_ , wearing nothing, with his genitals out, as if this is some kind of _sexual_ work.

            “You laugh because you do not understand. You are so ignorant of the mastery of this sculpture that you do not even _know_ that you are ignorant of it. You think that it is humorous, that nudity is funny, that the delicate smile is ‘creepy’, or even risible. It disgusts me to breathe the same air as you. How can I sleep easy, knowing that plebs such as you exist? Plebs such as you, who do not appreciate the subtleties and complexities of Archaic Greek sculpture? You should have known that you had to increase your level of maturity before beginning this course. The Classics, such a well-respected and highly-regarded field, is not for babies, plebeian babies like you. So get out of this class, if you cannot take it seriously. There is no room here, no room in the study of Classics, for plebs.”

            There was utter silence in the classroom for a moment, and then all the students began to guffaw and chuckle uproariously. Their laughter was uncontainable, uncontrollable. I stood, my face aghast, at such a display of plebeian absurdity. Cat simply had his head in his hands, no doubt also finding the behaviour of the class reprehensible. Mr Claudius sighed, picked up his things, and left the room. I did the same, shaking my head at the indescribable chaos and ridiculousness that I had just had the misfortune to behold.

 


	11. 15th September, 2015

15/09/15

 

Another atrocious day.

            I had a study period first thing, so I went to the library and set out my things in order to complete some work. Just as my pen touched the paper, a young man wearing grey tracksuit trousers and a blue hoodie shuffled in and said “Hey, Plebby!”

            I whipped my head round to accost him as he walked past, but he disappeared behind a bookshelf and was gone. Raising my eyebrows in mild confusion-- for I did not actually hear precisely what the boy had said-- I returned to my work, preparing to write a plan for an Economics essay.

            Then a girl walked in, cried “Hi, Plebby!” and sat down to do some work on the desk next to me.

            “What did you say?” I hissed at her.

            “What do you mean, Plebby? I just said hi!”

            “That! The ‘Plebby’ business! What is the meaning of it?”

            “Don’t you worry, Plebby…”

            “Explain!” I demanded. At that point, the librarian bellowed at me to be quiet.

            For the rest of the study period, every time a Year 12 student came into the library, they said “Hey, Plebby” to me. Each time, I got increasingly more furious, until I was on the point of loudly haranguing the next person who _dared_ to let the word leave their lips. And I have not even spoken of the name itself! Oh, the despicable connotations… How could I be compared to these vile common people? I am nothing like them!

            Finally, the bell rang for breaktime. I decided to purchase a snack from the canteen for the first time ever, navigating my litter through the packed room. I leaned through the curtains when I reached the front of the queue, and asked for a cup of tea and that day’s hot snack, a bacon baguette. I handed down the correct money, then picked up my purchases. When I took the lid off the polystyrene cup, I was disgusted to find that the tea was extremely milky. I dared to take a sip, and found that it was utterly tasteless.

            This presaged bad things for the baguette. Although swirls of steam curled from the hot, crisp bacon (I must admit that I do adore this delicious meat), I could tell from the crumb of the bread that it was slightly stale, and unlikely to be good quality. I took a bite, pleasantly surprised to find that the bacon was salty and flavourful.

            After my decently enjoyable snack, I made my way to my next lesson, Law. On my way, I saw Cat walking down the corridor.

            “What’d you have now?” he asked.

            “A double lesson of Law.”

            “Ah, okay, well I’ve got two frees, so me and my... friends... are probably gonna go out for a bit. You’re welcome to come down after your lesson and join us, although I’m not really sure that you’d want to…”

            “Hm… Well… I would not particularly enjoy coming across those people again.”

            “Neither would I, to be honest, but I didn’t really wanna turn down their invitation… Actually, fuck it, whatever, I’ll just blow them off later. Meet me here at lunch, we can go somewhere!”

            “Catullus! Plinius!” a passing teacher shouted. “Get to your lessons!”

            I set off in my litter, and Cat ambled off to meet the evil Regulus’ cronies.

            During Law, I had the displeasure of sitting by Regulus, and we had to do pair work together. It seems that he too had caught wind of this ‘Plebby’ business, since he continually used the name, even when I politely-- and impolitely-- told him to stop.

            “Oh, Plebby, lighten up! It’s just a nickname!”

            “How did it arise? How did you come to hear of it?” I asked, my voice dripping with venom.

            “I’m not sure, my dear Plebby. One of my friends just happened to use it, and I thought it was amusing, so I incorporated it into my vocabulary.”

            “Well it is absurd. Stop it immediately.”

            Regulus slapped me on the back amicably. I made a mental note to get the suit jacket that I was wearing dry-cleaned as soon as possible.

            “It doesn’t mean anything, Plebby, you don’t need to be so offended by it!”

            “Do not tell me by what I can and cannot get offended. I would rather be sent out of class than speak to you any further.”

            “That can be arranged, Plebby…”

            Regulus snatched the bottle of artisanal water from my bag, undid the lid and splashed it all over himself.

            “Mr Cicero!” he shrieked. “Plebby just threw his water all over me!”

            Before I could react, our teacher, Mr Cicero, turned around and bellowed at me to get out.

            “Sir, I did nothing!” I replied, raising my voice to a sufficiently argumentative level.

            “Regulus is soaked, and I can clearly see _your_ water bottle on the desk! Do _NOT_ argue with me! _GET OUT OF THIS CLASS, NOW!_ ”

            Incensed, inflamed, enraged, I stormed out of the room, dramatically kicking over an empty chair on my way. I leaned against the wall outside the classroom, shaking with fury, my hands balled tightly into fists, my teeth clenched and my eyes narrowed.

            A few minutes later, Mr Cicero opened the door and quietly stood next to me, arms folded.

            “Look, Plinius*, I know that you are not a badly-behaved young man,” he began. “But why would you do such a puerile thing?”

            *of course, he used the vocative of my name, ‘Plini’, for he too is of Roman descent and speaks Latin. So that the English-speaking readers of posterity do not get confused, I shall continue to use the nominative, when, in Latin, it would be a different case.

            “Mr Cicero, I promise you, I did not do it,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady despite my overwhelming anger.

            “Oh, Plinius, let us not get into an argument now. I shall let this incident slide, as long as you do not act up in my class again.”

            “Fine, sir, I shall do as you ask.” Inside, I was still fuming.

            The lesson went by slowly, for Regulus kept annoying and pestering me at every turn. He complained about his wet jacket; he complained about the difficulty of the work we had been set; he complained when I would not let him see my notes. I almost lost my temper again, but kept it in check. Regulus would not want to see me truly angry. My rage in this state is comparable to Achilles! (But does this mean that Cat is my Patroclus? I blush to think of it.)

            Finally, the lesson ended, and I hurriedly packed up my things. Bolting from the classroom, I almost screamed in horror as I perceived, out of the corner of my eye, Regulus following me to my litter.

            “ _Quo vadis_?” he asked, in an utterly sickly, irritating tone of voice. I have written this in Latin, purely because there is no way to describe the foul way in which he spoke if I translated his words. He pronounced the words as if he were some Year 7 child stumbling over their first lesson of Latin, as if he were a toddler learning to read, as if he were a foreigner who had never seen the Latin alphabet before. What was he trying to achieve by speaking in this manner? My mind was boggled. Regulus’ actions often warrant an explanation, but I am too scared to enter the dark recesses of his disturbed mind in order to solicit that from him.

            “What do you want, Regulus?” I sighed as heavily as Aeolus’ winds buffeting Aeneas and his ships on Juno’s orders.

            “Just wondering where you’re going, Plebby! Is that such a crime?”

            “I am going to see Cat, so if y--”

            “Ah! What a pleasant surprise! I too am going to see Cat, to eat lunch with him! Come on, Plebby, let us go together.”

            Without replying, I stepped into my litter and ordered to be taken to the designated rendezvous. Regulus rushed after me, fighting through the hordes of students coming out of lessons and making their way to lunch. I shouted at my litter-bearers to go faster, so that I could grab Cat and we could leave before Regulus descended upon us in all his obnoxious vapidity.

            I soon found Cat hanging around in our meeting-place, so I ordered my litter-bearers to kneel and let him in, practically screaming the instructions.

            “Why the rush?” Cat asked, as I grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him through the curtains.

            “Regulus is pursuing me. We must leave before he catches up. Quick, where shall we go for lunch?”

            “Umm… there’s this nice cafe quite near if you have any mon--”

            “Right, yes, let’s go there. Come on, boys, run like the wind!”

            I slapped the outside of my litter, barking my orders at the litter-bearers. They trotted away as fast as their legs could carry them, but it was too late. Regulus was jogging along next to us, begging to be let into the litter so that we could all go for lunch together.

            “Go away, Regulus,” I snapped.

            “Oh, Plebby, you are so hard-hearted! The chicken incident did not mean anything!”

            “I had actually forgotten about the chicken incident in the light of the ‘Plebby’ fiasco, but now you have reminded me and I despise you even more. Get out of my sight.”

            At that moment, the rest of Regulus’ group of friends appeared from behind a corner, on their way to the canteen. They said a hearty hello to Regulus and Cat, then screamed a chorus of “Plebby!” directly into my face (for I had poked my head through the curtains to get a better view of the commotion).

            “Isn’t this excellent?!” Regulus squealed, like one of the pigs who had once been Odysseus’ men, whom Circe drugged and transformed. “We can all go and get lunch together! Come on, Plebby, you lead the way!”

            I was cornered. I could not back out. With a great sigh, and a cuttingly disapproving look which only Cat saw, I led the gaggle of plebs to the cafe which he had recommended. It was a very small and charming place, serving a variety of homemade cakes and sandwiches. As soon as I saw the façade, an excellent idea for a date with Cat flew into my mind. If only I were alone with him!

            We descended from my litter and joined the plebs down at ground level. The group of us entered the cafe, a number of them shouting raucously about how delicious the cakes looked. Once we had found a table big enough for all of us, a waitress came over and took our orders.

            “Can we have all of that large chocolate fudge cake, my dear?” asked Regulus, giving her a sickening smile.

            “That will be £19.95, is that alr--”

            “I can pay that, pah! What do you take me for? Bring ten forks too!”

            With a raise of the eyebrow, the waitress walked off, scribbling down the order, as well as those from the rest of us. Once she had gone, Regulus began his tirade.

            “So, Plebby, how is it hanging about with us plebs? Feel like you’re catching our diseases? Feel like you’re becoming like a commoner? How do you like that? See, we aren’t so bad, are we?! Plebs are actually quite pleasant. Plebs are lovely. We don’t mind being called plebs, my dear Plebby. It’s no insult to be normal. But what about _you_ , Plebby? You aren’t normal! You’re posh! You’re rich! How’s that? How is it avoiding us plebs? Well, I say that, but you’re here now. Is this fun? I’m finding it fun. I just love it, Plebby, I really do. Do you love it? I think you do. Secretly, Plebby, you’re a pleb too. Don’t you agree? You are a pleb!”

            I raised an eyebrow and turned away from him, not wanting to dignify him with an answer.

            “Oh, come on, Plebby, I’m trying to have a conversation with you! Answer me!”

            He began to poke me repeatedly, repeating ‘Plebby’ ad nauseam. I was surprised at how well I managed to keep my cool, and how well Cat was trying to defend me.

            “Look, Regulus, this isn’t that funny,” he said, in a calm and reasonable tone of voice. “Only you find it funny. None of the rest of us do, so give it up.”

            To our horror, the rest of the people at the table said that they actually _did_ find it funny. With that, they began to bombard me with words, accusing me of being a pleb, asking silly questions, or saying various irritating things. They got louder and more aggressive, their voices rising in volume and pitch, until all of my senses were overwhelmed and I lost it.

            “Sweet Fortune, will you plebs shut up? Why do you insist on hanging out with me if all you want to do is take the piss?”

            I was shocked that I had let a rude word and colloquial expression slip out, but did not correct myself, for I thought that it had added to my expression of anger.

            “You guys are so horrible,” said Cat, his voice even, yet betraying an undercurrent of rage. “If you fucking do this again, I’m just gonna stop hanging out with you. This shit’s ridiculous.”

            “Hear that, guys?” Regulus chuckled. “Plebby’s little pleb boyfriend is defending him! How sweet is that?”

            Cat’s face twisted into a scowl, and he shook his head slowly.

            “Shut the fuck up, Regulus. Why are you such an asshole?”

            “The real question is, dear Catullus, why not?”

            Cat sighed deeply, putting his head in his hands.

            “Jesus Christ…”

            Finally, our food arrived, and Regulus shut up for the rest of lunchtime.

 


	12. 18th September, 2015

18/09/15

 

This ‘Plebby’ catastrophe has reached unprecedented proportions. On Wednesday, every single sixth form student that I passed said “Hi, Plebby!”. On Thursday, dozens of people sought me out _specifically_ to taunt me with that odious nickname. Today, Mr Plato, my Philosophy teacher, accidentally called me ‘Plebby’. I could have exploded with fury.

            He was telling us what this week’s homework was, showing us the relevant chapters in our textbook which we had to read. I had a question, so I put my hand up.

            “Yes, Plebby?” he said.

            He stopped for a moment and slapped a hand over his mouth. His eyes were as wide as two moons, embarrassment radiating from every pore.

            But the entire class laughed. No, more than that-- they screamed, they bellowed, they guffawed, they _cackled_. For five solid minutes, every single student was sprawled over their desk, clutching their stomach as immense chuckles wracked their body. Mr Plato attempted to control them, but soon succumbed to the laughter infection, and was bent double, crying and giggling like a little child.

            As you can imagine, I was not pleased about this. I began to feel extremely hot, and started to shake with anger, as I had done on so many an occasion recently. My skin went a vivid red, as I clenched my teeth and fists and vainly tried to contain my rage. Why was the entire pleb population intent on destroying me, taunting me and humiliating me? I could only storm out of class so many times before I got into serious trouble.

            “Right, guys, let’s be quiet, it’s not that funny,” Mr Plato choked out, between bursts of laughter. “It’s only a nickname, and I’m sure Ple-- Pliny is feeling quite embarrassed.”

            “That is correct. All of you, cease this juvenile behaviour,” I demanded.

            Finally, the bell signalling the end of the lesson rang, and I bolted from the room. I thanked the gods that it was now lunchtime, and I only had two more periods that afternoon: one of Economics, and one study period.

            During lunch, I sought out the Secundi Filii, for I was concerned by how much I’d been ignoring them recently. I found them sitting in a seafood restaurant, dining on freshly-caught fish and other bounty from the sea. Tacitus was sitting at the head of the table, his hair shining golden, looking like a god. Vergil was staring at him from across the table, leaning on it with his elbow. Clarus was sitting next to Suetonius, in the midst of stealing a piece of calamari from Suetonius’ plate. Hadrian and Antinous were deeply engaged in conversation, their heads close together so that no one else could hear.

Suetonius noticed me outside the restaurant, and enthusiastically beckoned for me to come in. I strode inside and stood by Tacitus, greeting them all. Most of them gave a half-hearted hello, and only Suetonius and Vergil actually turned to look at me.

“We’ve just finished our entrées,” said Suetonius. “Do you fancy joining us for the main course? I think I’m going to have the lobster, but I would need to share it with a second person.”

“Certainly, my dear Suetonius!” I exclaimed, touched that he would consider me close enough to share delicious lobster. “I would utterly delight in eating lobster with you!”

I slyly pulled a chair away from an adjacent table and placed it next to Suetonius. He shuffled to one side to give me some space, and I had to tap Clarus on the shoulder to get him to move too.

“Yes yes, Plebby, no need to be so impatient…” he muttered.

I almost strangled him there and then. How had this _disease_ of a nickname reached the illustrious ears of the Secundi Filii? What sort of scoundrel was Clarus to adopt it into his vocabulary? I burned with anger, like lion-hearted Achilles breaking the ranks of the Trojans with his gleaming spear.

“How did you hear of this atrocious nickname, Clarus?” I snapped.

“It came from the wind, from swift Rumour who flies through the land and spreads news and speculation,” he replied, in a bored monotone.

“Speak to me plainly, you twit. Where did you hear of Plebby?”

“A charming fellow named Regulus mentioned it in English Literature. We were having a riveting discussion about you.”

I left the conversation at that, for I was afraid to probe the matter any further. I did not want to know what lies and malicious things Regulus had told him.

Aside from this incident, the rest of the day turned out to be quite enjoyable. I ate a delectable lobster with Suetonius, had a lesson of Economics in which I actually _spoke_ to Tacitus, then did all of my homework during my study period. The icing on the cake-- to use this colloquialism-- was when Cat came and picked me up (if this is the right phrase) from the library and took me to the park to chat and relax.

“I must say, Cat, your so-called ‘friends’ have been terribly rude to me over the past few days,” I said sombrely.

“I know,” he replied, his face falling, with an expression of pity. “I didn’t realise they were like that, I swear. I thought that they were actually _nice_ people.”

“Appearances can be deceptive, my friend.”

“Oh, trust me, I am well aware of that!” He smiled, and my entire body was filled with joy. “ _You_ are a _perfect_ example. On the outside, you seem like-- no offence-- some sort of horrible snob, but… I’m not sure what it is, but somehow you’re nice. God, that sounded so rude, shit--”

“I understand. At times I feel as if I give off a slightly cold and haughty impression, but it is only to repel any undesirables from befriending me. It seems that now it has not worked, with regards to Regulus and his gang…”

“I’m really sorry for putting you through that, I really am.” He sighed, his utterly apologetic tone evident even in this. “I won’t hang out with them again. They are dicks. I mean, I guess I won’t really have friends now, but…”

“You can befriend the Secundi Filii!” I exclaimed. “I am aware that you have already spoken to one of them, and I am certain that the rest will just love you.”

“Is, um, that guy Antinous in the Secundi Filii? Cos I’ve spoken to him quite a bit, and he’s pretty cool.”

“I believe that Hadrian is putting him through a trial period to see if he is worthy of joining the club. This makes me believe that he is in a receptive and generous mood, so will be more inclined to also accept you into the Secundi Filii.”

“I guess I could meet them,” he said. “I’ve, like, not really met them all before, but I guess I kind of have to make friends with _someone_ , since now I’ve pretty much dropped Regulus’ lot…”

“With me by your side, you will never be without friends.”

We looked into each other’s eyes for some moments, smiling widely. I cursed myself for coming on too strong, but when I saw Cat’s face looking so serene and content and happy, I let my cares drift away to the wind.

He smiled even more widely-- if that were possible-- then hid his face with his hand and turned away, shaking his head.

“Oh God, I’m probably blushing now, aren’t I?” he said. “This is so embarrassing…”

My heart soared to the broad heavens above. He was blushing! Obviously this meant that he was in love with me!

He dared to look at me again, but quickly covered his reddening cheeks once more and started laughing.

“I am so sorry about this…” Then he composed himself. “Right, anyway, let’s change the subject. I’ve written a new poem!”

“What excellent news! You must show me,” I replied, utterly thrilled to read another one of his tender, charming and witty works.

“What, do you want me to like _read it out_ to you?” he exclaimed incredulously, embarrassment radiating from his scarlet cheeks.

“Of course! The best way to enjoy a poem is to hear it read aloud. What metre is it in?”

“Uh, it’s in hendecasyllables… I think… yeah, it is...”

“Capital! Oh, how I adore a good hendecasyllable! Please, read it out!”

Cat took out a battered, black leather-bound notebook from his bag and opened it. He flicked through the pages, which were crisp and stiff from the amount of writing scribbled all over them. I caught glimpses of small doodles, drawings and photos, undoubtedly no less charming than his poems. He found the correct page and opened his mouth to begin, but stopped.

“Agh, this is… agh… I’m sorry, I’m really bad at reading stuff aloud…”

“I’m sure you are wonderful. Nervousness creeping into the voice of a poet as he reads his cherished work does not detract from its effect. In fact, one may argue that it _adds_ to the effect, for it shows how much effort and passion he has poured into the piece. So go on, I am sure that this will be splendid.”

Cat took a deep breath, then read his poem. For the entire thing, I could do nothing else but sit back and listen to him, take in his smooth and melodious voice, marvel at his beautiful choice of words, and revel in the gorgeous images which they evoked. The way that he toyed with the word order-- for he had of course written in Latin, not rigid, unforgiving English-- made each phrase drip from his mouth like golden honey, caressing me, enveloping me in their delicacy and grace. The poem flowed like the soft stream of the River of Ocean, each line perfectly sliding into the next with the perfect pause, or lack thereof, in between.

In terms of his delivery and enunciation, it was impeccable, utterly unfaultable. He spoke like a born patrician during parts written in an elevated, grand style, and (perhaps unconsciously) let his natural voice slip through when the raw emotion of the poem was expressed in more informal language. His elision was, for want of a better word, delicious, sensuously and smoothly gliding between one word and the next, easily and sweetly falling upon the ear. He employed sound effects-- gorgeous alliteration, awe-inspiring sibilance, powerful assonance-- to great effect, adding to the emotion and poetic images playing wonderfully in my mind. It sounded like a song, a lament, a tragic hymn to sea-born Venus from an aching, lovestruck boy.

Ah, if only I knew what had inspired this genius! If only I could be more sure that it alluded to me! O, I hope deeply in my heart that these honeyed words have sprung from his desire for me, but I do not want to get ahead of myself and wish too much for something that is untrue. Cruel mother of Aeneas, why must you taunt me with such hardship in matters of the heart?

All words caught in my throat as Cat looked to me for a response. I opened and closed my mouth like a guppy, every piece of praise disappearing, leaving my mind blank.

“Wow…” I eventually said.

“Did you like it?” he asked, eyes as wide as the silver moon, looking terrified.

“Oh, I did far more than simply _like_ it… I… I adored it! It was one of the most beautiful poems I have ever heard!”

Cat, like me, was speechless. He struggled to find the words, but managed to thank me, blushing yet again.

“Thanks… I mean, I didn’t think it was quite finished, but I guess… Thank you! Do you really, actually like it?”

“Oh, Cat, of course I do! I would never be dishonest, and besides, who could possibly dislike such a wonderful poem?”

He grinned widely, his happiness reaching all the way to his sparkling eyes. My heart melted like beeswax.

“Thank you so much, Plinius!” he cried.

In a somewhat flustered manner, he leaned over and embraced me. Immediately, I threw my arms around him to return the hug, utterly overcome with joy. The force of this pulled Cat closer to me, and he slid over the grass upon which we were sitting, giving a cry of surprise.

To my utter satisfaction, he shifted his position so that he was practically _sitting in my lap_. I began to hyperventilate.

“Are you alright?” Cat said into my ear, noticing that I was shaking and breathing rapidly.

I nodded, unable to force any words out. Cat hugged me even more tightly, making me fall backwards onto the grass. This did not help my overwhelmed state, especially as he was now on top of me, and I literally had to fight not to let out a squeal or a scream.

He got off me as quickly as a flash of Jupiter’s lightning.

“I’m so sorry!” he cried, laughing. Breath caught in my throat, for his laughter was like his poetry: musical, melodious, joyful.

At that moment, a small car of plebeian appearance came to a halt next to us. One of the windows rolled down, and a woman stuck her head out of it. She began to bark in Latin.

“Cat! What are you _doing_ here? I told you that you had to be home by four! I’m tired of you staying out after school so late and not having enough time to do your homework!”

I guessed that this was his mother.

Cat attempted to reply: “I’m sorry, but--”

            “Quiet! You should be glad that I came this way on my way home from work. If I’d come back and saw that you were still out you would have been in a _lot of trouble_. Now get into the car!”

Although her tone of voice was aggressive, it seemed to have a slight undertone of amused disappointment. It was almost as if she were saying ‘Oh, Cat, you rascal, you funny son of mine. In you get, come on now.’

“I have to go now, Plinius, but I’ll see you on Monday!” he exclaimed, getting up and picking up his bag. “Bye!”

He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and I swear that I blacked out for a moment. When I came to my senses, I saw Cat clambering into the passenger seat of the car, turning back for a second to wave goodbye. I could barely register what was going on, let alone wave; all I managed to give him was a distant, blissfully happy smile.

As soon as I got home this evening, I made sure to give an offering to Venus for this magnificent turn of events.

 


	13. 24th September, 2015

24/09/15

 

Practically since I could walk, I have been taking fencing lessons. They have been with a private coach, one of the foremost fencers in the country, molding me into an excellent, skilled swordsman. However, my heart yearns for this pleb-infested school to become more civilised, so today I took up with the school the matter of starting up a fencing society.

            In short, it went extremely well. At lunchtime, I went to the office of the head of Sixth Form and politely asked if it would be possible.

            “I’m sure we could,” she said, “but it would be awfully expensive. What we could do is let you use our sports hall at a certain time each week, but the equipment and everything else will be up to you. Our sports budget has been almost completely exhausted by the rowing club, since some of its new members managed to sink a number of the boats on a… night out.”

            “Oh, do not worry, I will be able to finance everything. All I will need is an hour and a half each week in the sports hall,” I replied.

            “You’ll need to go and speak to the PE department about that.”

            “Certainly. I shall do that presently. Thank you.”

            I headed to the PE department’s office, battling through the seething crowds of students wandering about the school. I stepped out of my litter just as the door opened, and I strode inside. Immediately, my nostrils were attacked by the heady stench of sweat, so I threw a hand to my mouth.

            “Good afternoon,” I managed to say. “I have a small enquiry to make of you.”

            “What’s that, then?” asked one of the PE teachers, rolling a tennis ball between her hands absentmindedly.

            “I wish to make use of the sports hall at a fixed time each week, for my fencing society.”

            “Right…” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I didn’t know we had a fencing society.”

            “We do not, but I am setting one up. It will all be taken care of by me, but I will need to use the hall for our sessions.”

            “Alright then, let me just get up our timetable.”

            She produced a piece of paper from a drawer and placed it on the table. It was a standard-issue school timetable, many of the boxes containing the name of a club taking place at that time. Only a few boxes were empty, and with a grimace I looked at the times.

            “So we’ve got Monday at 8:00, Wednesday at 5:30 or 6:30 and Thursday at 4:00,” she said, going over the empty boxes with her finger.

            “The Thursday slot seems the most reasonable. I shall have that.”

            “For how long?”

            “Until 5:30.”

            “And that’s every week?”

            “Yes.”

            “Okay, there we go. If you need anything, do come up to the PE department and ask; we will do as much as our budget allows. Enjoy your fencing club!”  
            “It is a fencing _society_ ,” I corrected her.

            “Sorry, sorry.”

            I turned to leave.

            “Wait a minute! What’s your name? Just so I can write it in the timetable.”

            “Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus.”

            “I’ll just put Gaius Secundus…”

            Flaming with anger, I left the office without another word. I have all but given up on correcting plebs’ infuriating mistakes. Let them wallow in their ignorance.

            The moment I got home that afternoon, I began to devise posters to put up around the school, advertising the fencing society. I decided to keep it exclusive to the Sixth Form, so as to repel the majority of the rabble who would not take this ancient art seriously. Using my professional quality artists’ materials, I painted a beautiful poster, depicting a proud fencer lunging with his foil, with the details of the society beneath it. I did not put an exact date, for I did not know when exactly we would begin meeting, so instead I put a common phrase for increasing tension and piquing interest: ‘coming soon’.

            I then signalled for Jonty.

            “Please take this to the printer’s and get fifty copies made!” I ordered, handing him the poster.

            With a dutiful bow, he left the room to perform the task.

            My next job was to design the uniforms for the fencing society. Since I had hopes of the members going on to compete in various tournaments, we needed an easily recognisable and impressive kit. My first instinct was to go with a full-on Roman theme, but after drawing up some initial designs, I found that they looked quite absurd. I did seven more drafts, refining and perfecting the design until I had hit upon a stroke of genius.

            The plastron-- the small jacket that goes over one’s fencing arm-- was of standard-issue white, for it would not be visible after the other layers comprising the uniform had been put on. The breeches were a deep red, and would have a stripe of brown leather down the side of the legs (reminiscent of the leather elements of Roman military dress). The knee-high socks were to be a similar shade of red, but would be embellished with greave-like metal plates, covered with gold. The gloves would be pure, brown leather of the highest quality. The jacket would be the same shade of red as the breeches, and the chest area would be covered with leather, like a sort of breastplate. Each jacket would be personalised with a gold badge, upon which was engraved the member’s initials, as well as the name of the fencing society.

            But the best part-- O, the most beautiful, wonderful part-- were the helmets. Of course, they were regulation fencing masks, protecting the wearer’s face from any stray sword-thrusts, but they had an utterly delicious Roman addition: crests. And not just crests, but crests denoting rank. The lowest members of the fencing society would have unadorned helmets, but those of the captain and vice-captain would have glorious crests. I decided to stick with simple red horsehair, to go with the colour scheme of the rest of the kit. The vice-captain’s helmet would have a transverse crest, like that of a (historically accurate) centurion. The captain’s helmet would be ‘normal’, the way that Roman military helmets are almost always portrayed in modern culture. In addition to this, the captain’s helmet would have various gold embellishments and decorations, to signify the wearer’s high rank. Of course, the wearer would be me.

            As soon as Jonty returned from the printer’s with a box containing copies of my poster, I ordered him to obtain the services of a seamstress or some other respectable worker in the textiles industry, to bring my designs to life. He suggested that I hire someone who actually makes fencing equipment and uniforms, to which I congratulated him and gave him a few £20 notes as a tip.

            I sent him away with my final designs, overcome with excitement that my fencing society was coming together so well.

            Over our evening meal, I brought up the matter of the fencing society to my uncle.

            “I hate to break away from our dinner-time tradition,” I said shyly, interrupting the secretary who was reading some Livy aloud to us, “but I have to discuss something with you, uncle.”

            “What might that be, my dear Plinius?” he asked, putting down his pen. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my mother sitting back in her chair with a smile of relief-- she never particularly enjoyed being read books over dinner, much less being read Livy.

            (For some clarification, as I am sure that posterity is now confused: after my father’s death, my mother and I moved to my uncle’s house, for he is extremely wealthy and offered to become my second legal guardian. He also saw how grieved my mother was at her husband’s death, and did not want her to be alone and raise me by herself.)

            “I am setting up a fencing society in school, and I have found myself requiring extensive funding. Would it be possible to obtain some money from you for this purpose?”

            “What exactly do you need this money for?”

            “I need to print posters advertising the society; purchase a few sets of electrical equipment-- electrics, rather; hire a seamstress to make our uniforms; purchase the foils, sabres and epées (for I will introduce all three types of weapon to the society); purchase masks, and attach horsehair crests to the ones for the captain and vice-captain. As you can easily guess, this would require several thousand pounds.”

            “I will certainly fund this; it is no difficult matter for me. If you require any more money, you must come to me posthaste! I will always be willing to pay for such an excellent venture.”

            “Thank you, dear uncle!” I replied, excitement welling up in my breast. “You are spectacularly kind. Now, let us return to our Livy, to take notes and extracts from it.”

            The rest of the meal passed in this fascinating, stimulating manner.

 


	14. 25th September, 2015

25/09/15

 

This day has been monumentally shit. And I am not sorry for swearing.

I got to school especially early, in order to place my posters in every classroom and corridor. I did this myself, since the only servants I had with me were my litter-bearers, and as a rule I do not make them do any other duties other than that (carrying a litter is extremely tiring work).

            I snuck from room to room, sticking my posters onto walls with Blu-tac. They looked bright, shiny and eye-catching, even from afar. No doubt people would be interested to read them and consider joining the society. I was worried, though, that plebs would attend this club to “have a laugh”, and not truly dedicate themselves to the elegant art of fencing. I would not take anyone that was not serious about the sport.

            I jauntily went to my morning registration, noticing my poster getting the attention of a number of students. They turned their heads to read the writing on it, but I could not discern their reaction from their facial expressions.

            After registration, I was taken to Classical Civilisation. I smiled as I saw my poster proudly displayed on the wall. At breaktime, I sat in the common room with the Secundi Filii, pointing out the nearest fencing society poster.

            It was only during Philosophy that I saw that one of my posters had gone.

            As I entered the room, I looked to my left to glance at the fencing society poster which I had placed on the wall, but gasped as I saw that it had disappeared. All that was left was a small piece of Blu-tac. I was shocked.

            I sat down in my usual seat, which was near the wall where my poster once was. I happened to look over at the bin in the corner of the room, and saw the telltale edge of my beautifully-printed poster sticking out of the top of it. Immediately, I stood up and grabbed the poster from the bin, then slapped it back on the wall in its previous place. At that moment, Mr Plato strode in.

            “Plinius, I removed that poster for a reason; what are you doing?” he barked at me.

            “Sir, it was awfully rude of you to take my poster down. I was simply putting it back in its original place,” I replied, with a serene and calm expression gracing my countenance.

            “You have to get permission before you place posters around the school. I am fully aware that you do not have permission: in our staff meeting this morning, the sudden appearance of these fencing posters was an urgent issue. Headmaster Vespasianus was revolted to find them hanging everywhere as he came into school this morning. You should be ashamed.”

            “I am not going to be ashamed of my beautiful posters, and I was not aware that it was necessary to obtain permission before putting them up! Do not speak to me in this manner.”

            “ _Excuse me?_ Are _you_ telling _me_ what tone of voice I should adopt?” Mr Plato bellowed, unconsciously flexing his rippling biceps, which bulged out from underneath his tight suit jacket and shirt. “I am in a good mind to send you to Professor Hunton-Blather’s office immediately!”

            “She is on my side, sir. She would not tell me off.”

            “Such insolence!” he wailed, raising his arms to the heavens. “I cannot believe your tone! Get out! Professor Hunton-Blather’s office, _NOW_!”

            I made a pointed harrumphing sound, picked up my bag and marched from the room, making sure that my poster remained on the wall. The moment that the door closed behind me, I looked back through its small window and noticed Mr Plato ripping the poster down, whilst the class laughed. Fury coursed through me like Jupiter’s lightning bolt. Why am I being punished for standing up for my rights and freedoms? Why has this sixth form become so draconian? I am one of their best students! I do not deserve such atrocious treatment.

            Practically shouting at my litter-bearers, I ordered them to take me to the office of the head of the sixth form. On my way, I was disgusted to find that almost all of my fencing society posters had been torn down, and were lying in tatters on the floor. I winced as I passed each one, appalled at the brutality of the school.

I soon arrived at Professor Hunton-Blather’s office, and took a seat on one of the black leather chairs that she had placed outside. These were notorious seats, since they were only sat in by those who were about to have a meeting with her-- and meetings with her were normally about bad behaviour or poor academic performance. Some students passed by me as I waited, and looked surprised when they saw _me_ of all people sitting there.

            Professor Hunton-Blather opened the door to her office and let a teacher out, bidding her farewell. She then looked to the chairs and noticed me. Her eyes widened.

            “Plinius? What are you doing here?” she asked.

            “Mr Plato sent me,” I replied laconically.

            “Is this about the posters?” She paused and sighed. “Oh dear… Right then, come in.”

            She ushered me inside and sat down behind her desk. I sat on the chair on the other side, praying to the gods that she would act favourably to me.

            “You are aware that you must get permission before putting up posters around the school,” she began, typing something on her computer.

            “I was not aware of this, Professor, s--”

            “That is no excuse, I am afraid. You still broke our rules, and it must be logged on our system. Now, I am having a look at your record, and it seems that you have racked up a number of infractions. Getting sent out of the library, getting sent out of lessons, general rude behaviour and attitude towards teachers and fellow students…”

            I gasped, utterly furious and shocked that members of staff were impolite enough to have considered my normal behaviour rude-- and, what is worse, rude enough to warrant logging it on my record. What have I done, other than educate the plebs on the particulars of my noble way of life?

            “I am afraid that punishment is in order, in line with our school’s behavioural policy,” she said, in an extremely final tone.

            “Oh... will I be getting a detention?” I asked, trying not to betray my inner tempest of emotion.

            “No; your infractions are a little worse than what warrants a mere detention. This school’s policy is to give detentions for minor incidents, such as two late or missed homeworks, or two instances of being late to lessons. You, however, have consistently displayed a terrible attitude towards members of staff, being rude to their faces, interrupting their lessons, disrupting the learning of other students. You will therefore be put on a contract.”

            “A contract?!” I repeated, quite unsure of what this was in the context of school discipline. But although unsure, I was nevertheless blazing with fury.

            “Yes, a contract. We shall draw one up in a moment, detailing targets for your behaviour. You must reach these targets, or at least show improvement and signs that you will reach them, before a set period of time, or we shall have to consider further punishment. This means suspension, or even expulsion. So, do not take this contract lightly.”

            I could barely see through my haze of anger. I was shaking from head to toe, lion-like rage bubbling up in my breast like a boiling cauldron of water. I could barely believe what was happening to me.

            “Now then,” the beastly woman continued, “let us write you a contract with a number of targets. What do you think they should be, Plinius?”

            She looked at me with kindly eyes. I returned with a stone-cold glare.

            “To be more polite to teachers,” I replied through gritted teeth.

            “Yes, that is a good start, but we should be more specific than that. In what ways will you be more polite to teachers?”

            “By not answering them back.”

            “Good! Excellent. What else?”

            “Speaking to them respectfully. As if they are authority figures.”

            “Yes, very good. How about one more target?”

            “Not to get sent out of any lessons or other study areas.” My voice was just as icy as ever, and my body was overcome with pure, distilled fury.

            “These are excellent targets, Plinius. How long should you have to reach them? Hm… I think about two weeks. Is that alright?”

            “Yes, professor.”

“Good. Now, let me just print this out, and then you can sign it and take it away with you. On the back of the contract there are boxes for teachers to sign every lesson, if they think that you have shown improved behaviour. If you fill up all the boxes by the end of the two weeks, you will not have to be considered for further punishment.”

The piece of paper floated gently out of the printer, and Professor Hunton-Blather snatched it out of the tray where printed pieces of paper lie. I signed my name in the space at the bottom, dismayed that I did not have enough time to heat some wax with which to properly seal the contract. (I prefer to use my signet ring and wax to sign documents, for it is what proper Roman men do. I received the ring on the occasion of my accession to manhood, during the same ceremony where I was given my first toga. It was a truly magnificent day.)

As I signed the contract, Professor Hunton-Blather continued to talk.

“What worries me, Plinius, is that someone like you is having behavioural issues. I have heard that when you were in Years 7 to 11 at this school, you were an extremely well-behaved student. Exemplary, in fact. Is there anything you would like to discuss? There must be some reason for this sudden change. Problems at home? Problems with friends? Problems in other areas? My office door is always open, if you would like to discuss anything. I can even get you in contact with counsellors, therapists, psycholog--”

“There is no reason for my recent change in behaviour, professor,” I replied curtly. “I am acting as I always have done. Perhaps it is the school that is becoming more intolerant, rather than me becoming more badly-behaved.”

She sighed and put her head in her hands.

“Whatever you say, Plinius. Again, if you would like to have a chat to me, please feel free. Please come back on the date mentioned in the contract, and we will go through it and see if you have met your targets. Goodbye now.”

I strode from the office, wanting so dearly to burn the contract there and then.


	15. 30th September, 2015

30/09/15

 

On Saturday, I sent an email out to the whole of the sixth form, inviting them to consider joining the fencing society. I wanted to have my first meeting that week-- tomorrow, in fact-- meaning that students would only have a few days to register their interest. Surprisingly, I got a large number of responses. Today, I went to the PE department to tell them that the first fencing society meeting would be tomorrow, and I did this with great excitement. Everything was coming together so perfectly!

            But then I got home, and found that my uniforms had not yet arrived. The company said that they would have done! They had telephoned me to say that they would be arriving at the Villa Plinia this afternoon! It was almost five o’clock, and nothing had come in the post.

            I could not turn up to the first meeting without my uniforms. All I had were the electrics and weapons, and that would not do-- one could not possibly fence safely without the layers of protection that fencing kit offered, and especially without a helmet! My heart began to pound in my chest, and my breathing shallowed.

            Immediately, I bounded up the stairs to my apartments, the floor of the mansion that was dedicated to my various rooms. I had my bedroom, bathroom, study and private dining room up here. I also had a lounge, a personal room for entertaining my guests, and a small library. O, how I wished to invite Cat to this house! The hours we could wile away in my library, perusing books! The time we could spend in my lounge, drinking and conversing and doing whatever manner of things that we wished to do! The meals we could have in my dining room, just the two of us, alone, content!

            I digress. So, I returned to my apartments and sat in the lounge, breathing deeply and trying not to be overwhelmed by stress. I took the stopper from my decanter of single malt Scotch (one of the best available, stolen from my uncle’s collection) and shakily poured it into a tumbler, the liquid sloshing in haphazardly. I was saving this for a particularly special event-- a house party like the one that Tacitus had held, perhaps-- but my panic got the better of me and clouded my rationality.

            Draining the whiskey tumbler in a single long draught, I prayed that I would not succumb to a full-on panic attack. It was probably too late by this point.

            Suddenly, the bell in my lounge rang, informing me to come downstairs to the atrium. With shaky legs, I stumbled down the grand staircase, gripping onto the balustrade as if it were the sole piece of my destroyed ship left as I was tossed about by a stormy sea.

            Jonty was standing by the front doors, which were open, speaking to a fairly well-dressed man standing on the threshold.

            “A delivery for… Gaius Plinius Luci filius Caecilius Secundus?” he attempted, butchering the pronunciation of my name.

            I must note that, although I insist upon teachers referring to me by my ‘full’ name of Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus, my true, legal name is as above. Sadly, in my key personal document, my passport, this name is too long to fit into the allotted space, so it had to be shortened. This then had a domino effect on all other documents and things which involve my name, as they use my passport to check who I really am. The only document which says my legal name in full is my deed poll, which was written upon my adoption by my uncle, in order that I might take his family’s name. (My birth name was Gaius Caecilius Cilo, in case posterity wondered.)

            Swallowing deeply in order to get moisture into my throat, I crossed the atrium and joined Jonty at the doors.

            “I am he,” I replied to the delivery-man.

            “Please sign here, son. We’ve got a large amount of… uh, clothing of some kind for you?”

            “Very good.” My voice was steady, and my mind immediately grew calm. All was not lost.

            The delivery-man handed me a stylus and some sort of electronic tablet device (I must admit, I am not familiar with technology). I signed my name in the appropriate space with a loose yet elegant hand.

            The man walked back to his van, and some time later lugged in a large deep red box, embossed with the name of the company from which I had commissioned the uniforms.

            “There we go, son. Have a nice day!”

            “Thank you, sir.”

            Jonty closed the door, and with sparkling eyes I snatched the lid from the box. What delights greeted me as I opened it! The uniform was bright, vibrant and crisp, without a crease in sight and so neatly folded. I took out the first garment, which was a jacket, and inhaled the fresh, clean scent of new fabric and leather. It was utterly glorious; perfectly sewn and exactly the same as my designs. How well the seamstresses had turned my ideas into reality!

            I had a quick look through the box, finding that each item came in a variety of sizes. At the bottom of the box, in a separate compartment, the helmets lay in a perfect row. It was obvious which two were meant for the captain and vice-captain, since they had gorgeous gold detailing picked out all over them, in majestic Roman designs. The horsehair crests were nestled next to them, as I was meant to attach them myself. I did this, took one look at the helmets, and almost burst into tears. The fencing society was going to be perfect.

            I ordered Jonty to place the box of uniforms, the weapons and the electrics in a cart in preparation for next morning when I would take them to school. He gathered some other household staff to help him with this duty, and I went to my study to complete my homework. My mind and my heart were completely at peace.

 


	16. 1st October, 2015

01/10/15

 

As soon as the day’s lessons were over, I hurried to the sports hall and prepared it for the fencing society. At least ten people had confirmed that they would attend, including the whole of the Secundi Filii. A sudden worrying thought flashed through my mind: what if they did not turn up? What if they cancelled at the last minute?

Thankfully, the gods had smiled upon my venture, so almost everyone turned up, and promptly too. A grin crossed my face as I perceived Tacitus, already in sportswear in preparation for fencing. I gave him a wave and slight incline of the head, which he returned.

“Gather round, my friends!” I called, clapping my hands twice. The fencers-to-be formed a circle around me. “Welcome to the fencing society-- the name of which will be decided in due course. I am glad that you are all interested in the ancient and prestigious art of swordplay, and I hope that, if you have never done it before, a passion will be kindled within you, and you will take this interest further. Of course, our team shall compete in tournaments, and I hope that we will rise through the ranks and become a nationally acclaimed group of fencers.

“Now, the first order of business is to get correctly-sized uniforms. I have had a lovely range custom-made for our society, so that we will stand out from other, more plainly-clad teams. There are a number of sizes available, so feel free to try items on until you find one that fits. When you do, please write your name on the label inside, so that I can get the garments decorated with your initials. And do not worry, my fencers, you will not need to pay a penny for any of this-- the funding is all taken care of.”

I retreated to the changing rooms to put on my own kit, which I had already selected and tried on. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in the bathroom on the way out, and could not help but admire my mighty and glorious appearance. I truly looked like a Roman soldier-- a tribune perhaps, or even a legate. I perched the helmet on top of my head, so that I did not have to carry it back to the hall.

When I returned, everyone formed a line, looking wonderful in their perfectly-fitting uniforms. They had even taken the initiative and selected helmets, which they had all nestled in the crooks of their elbows. It truly was a sight to behold.

“Excellent, you all look like true fencers. Now then, today will be an introductory lesson, and I will teach you the basics of fencing. In this society, we will be using all three weapons: foil, epée and sabre. After a few sessions, you may choose which weapon in which to specialise, and from then on you will chiefly practice with it. In this session, I will introduce you to foil, since I believe that this is the perfect beginners’ weapon.

“Of course, a number of you will have fenced extensively before. For this session, you may pair up and simply fence. You may organise a small round robin tournament, or just spar with one another; I do not mind. I shall be tutoring the new fencers, and trust that you will be able to sensibly get on with whatever you like. So, if you have never fenced before, please line up to my left, and if you have, feel free to set up the electrics and begin.”

Hadrian, Tacitus, Suetonius and Clarus went off to one end of the sports hall, since they were experienced fencers, and the rest of the club congregated around me.

At that moment, the door burst open and a flustered-looking Cat swept in. He was breathing heavily, and his clothes were extremely dishevelled. He dropped his satchel on the ground, as well as his coat, then walked up to me.

“I’m so sorry… I’m really late… I got out of lessons late and then I got really lost…”

“That is completely fine, my dear friend. We have not yet started. Please try on the fencing kit in the corner, find items of the right size, then return to me.”

Cat followed my instructions, stripping down to his t-shirt as he looked for uniform that would fit him. Almost unconsciously, I looked over and gazed at him as he changed. How lewd, how lascivious! I was disgusted with myself.

When he returned to the group of new fencers, I could not hide the fluttering in my stomach as I looked at him. He looked by far the most attractive in this uniform. I bit my lip, averted my eyes, then began to speak.

“I am extremely glad that you have chosen fencing as a hobby, and I hope that you find yourself enjoying it. Our first order of business is to familiarise ourselves with the weapons-- in today’s case, a foil. I shall hand one to each of you. Please spend a few moments holding it, feeling its weight, perhaps attempting a few movements to discover how the blade behaves. After that, I shall teach you the correct fencing stance, and we can leap straight into a sparring match-- the best way to learn is by doing, I always say.”

I selected a well-sized foil for each fencer, and gave it to them. Immediately, two immature boys started swinging them wildly, trying to hit each other. One boy was lashed across the face by the thin blade, and he wailed in pain.

“These are _weapons_ ; do not forget that!” I cried. “If hit by one, it _will_ hurt! Do not be so silly and reckless!”

“Yeah, guys!” a girl, undoubtedly a friend of the two boys, taunted. “Don’t be so silly and reckless!”

The injured boy gave a disapproving grunt, wiping blood from his wound.

After some minutes, I deemed that the fencers had had sufficient time to familiarise themselves with the foils. I next instructed them on correct fencing stance, and paired them off in order to have a go at sparring. To my delight-- not that I had engineered things that way-- Cat was left without a partner, so I had to pair up with him.

“I’m so glad you’ve finally arrived!” I exclaimed. “I was worried that you wouldn’t come!”

“I’m really sorry about that… I just got so lost… Some fucking Year 7s gave me shit instructions, and just laughed at me when I asked them where the sports hall was. What, am I meant to know the entire layout of the school off by fucking heart?”

His foul language was shocking, but strangely attractive. I was glad that he could not see my reddening cheeks behind my mask.

“Is this alright?” he asked, sinking down into an attempt at fencing stance and brandishing his foil before him.

“Not quite… Let me just--”

I stood behind him and physically corrected his stance. I touched his shoulders, his arms, his waist, his thighs… each moment of contact sent sparks dancing through me, an electric current so strong that I was caught off-guard. I felt Cat’s body tense under my hands, for undoubtedly he too was shocked by my touch.

“There we go. Now, hold that stance, and you will be perfectly equipped for whomever you fight.”

“This is so uncomfortable!” he said.

“You will soon get used to it. Now, step forward, and let us fence!”

Cat took a tentative step forward, extending his sword arm so that he could reach me. Since I wanted to go easy on him this time, I did not move out of the way, and let him hit me. The end of the foil just touched my shoulder, and Cat swiftly stepped back, as if scared, making sure to stay in fencing stance.

“More power, Cat! The hit will not be registered unless you do it properly!” I exclaimed, smiling at his classic novice behaviour.

“Won’t it hurt?”

“Not if you do it correctly. Let me demonstrate.”

I dropped into fencing stance and lunged, hitting him square on the chest. Instinctively, he stepped back, giving a small yelp, but stopped when he found that the hit did not hurt in the slightest.

“Oh! That was fine!” he noted. “Well then, I’m gonna do it to you!”

He practically ran for me, swiftly stepping towards me and thrusting his foil into my stomach. He did this with such force that I stumbled backwards, crying out in surprise.

“Shit, did I hurt you?”

“No no, fear not. That was the perfect amount of power. Now, let us have a proper match.”

“Are you gonna go easy on me?” he asked.

“Well, yes… I mean, this is your first time fencing!”

“Don’t! Come at me!”

“Alright then, Cat. You asked for it…”

We prepared ourselves for the fight, checking our stances and standing a sufficient distance apart. I called out “En garde… ready… fence!” and the match began.

Since Cat had asked me not to go easy on him, I unleashed my full repertoire of skills. Within moments, I had won the point. Although he parried me once, he did not counter-attack, leaving his body exposed and easy to hit. I congratulated him on his effort, then we continued.

I could tell that he was trying harder with every point I won, since it took me longer and longer to hit him. He eventually executed a successful parry and riposte, and although he did not hit me, he came close.

“Absolutely excellent!” I interjected, once I had won the point. “I can see you improving rapidly!”

“Thanks!” Cat replied, through heavy breaths. The first fight of a brand-new fencer is always extremely tiring. “Are we done yet?”

“I have reached five points, so yes, we are done. Feel free to have a short break, whilst I check on the other fencers.”

Cat took off his helmet and shook his head to sort out his hair. Breath caught in my throat as I watched this. He looked like some young and supple warrior, taking off his proud bronze helmet after a long and taxing day of warfare, about to retire to his tent which he shares with his _erastes_ … O, I am getting ahead of myself here. I must not fill my head with these fantasies.

I turned, also removed my helmet, and walked around the group of fencers. Vergil and Antinous were engaged in a hesitant match, their movements restrained and tense. I told them to loosen up, and sink a little lower into fencing stance, but complimented them on their precise thrusts with their foils. They would definitely excel technically, with more training.

The two immature boys from earlier were putting their all into their fight. Their foils were swinging everywhere, slicing through the air with a sharp whistle. Neither of them were in fencing stance, but standing straight up, brandishing their weapons like pirate cutlasses.

“Enough!” I barked. “If you are not going to take this seriously, please leave.”

“Alright, Plebby, keep your hair on!” one of them replied, chuckling childishly.

I strode away, not wanting to engage with them any further. I next passed by the only two girls in the group, surprised at their skill. They were fencing extremely well, for beginners, and I could only watch in awe.

“Utterly wonderful,” I said, once one of the girls had won the final point and concluded the fight. “Have either of you fenced before?”

“Nope,” they both said in unison, taking off their helmets.

“And what are your names?” I asked.

“Maya,” said one, who I noticed was rather beautiful, with strong cheekbones, lustrous dark hair and brown skin. (I suspected she was Indian, or at least part Indian.)

“Violet,” said the other. She too was good-looking, with slightly wavy blonde hair and pink lips in a natural half-smile.

“Well, Maya and Violet, I hope that you continue to attend the fencing society. Your presence will be _greatly_ appreciated.”

I walked over to the members of the Secundi Filii who were already fencers, overhearing the one of the girls whispering “Was he hitting on us? Because that would be so awkward… for obvious reasons!” They both giggled, but when I turned my head, they shut up instantly, cheeky smiles on their faces.

“Is all well, lads?” I asked, standing next to the match between Hadrian and Clarus.

“Yes, all is well,” they both replied, their tone of voice betraying the fact that their minds were very much focused on the fight.

I had a quick look at Suetonius and Tacitus. A quick look which turned into a long, lingering, intense gaze. Tacitus was like a god with his foil. Every movement was deft and precise, executed with the utmost skill and accuracy. His feet crossed the floor swiftly, stepping forwards and backwards like Mercury dancing through the air with his lovely sandals of untarnishable gold. But as well as this delicacy and grace, he displayed great power, thrusting with force and vigour. Suetonius, although experienced and skilful, could barely keep up with the rapidity of Tacitus’ attacks. He soon faltered and opened one side of his body up, and after a quick lunge, the point was won.

“A splendid fight, my dear Suetonius,” said Tacitus, reaching over to shake his hand.

“I was never a true match for you, Tacitus. Your skill is too immense compared to mine.”

“Do not say that, my friend! You truly are an excellent fencer.”

“Sabre is more my forte, I must admit…”

I interrupted.

“Friends! Everyone! Please cease your fencing and gather round. It is time for a competition, in order to see who will win the position of vice-captain. Whoever does will be able to affix this beautiful red crest to their helmet, to signify their rank.”

Everyone began to whisper excitedly amongst themselves. I ordered them to be quiet, then placed everyone with a partner of similar ability-- with the exception of Tacitus (for there were odd numbers). He was allowed to bypass this round, but would join in at the next one.

The fencers all arranged themselves down the length of the sports hall, preparing themselves for their matches. Silence descended upon the group, and I let it continue for some moments in order to increase the tension. Finally, I cleared my throat and called out:

“En garde… ready… fence!”

The group exploded into action, the sound of foils whipping through the air filling my ears, like the breath of Zephyrus filling black ships’ sails and pushing them on across the wine-dark waves. There were frequent grunts of exertion, and the occasional obscenity, from the fencers. Their shoes squeaked as they stepped forwards and backwards-- although this betrayed the fact that their footwork was less than perfect.

“Remember, the winner is the first to achieve three points!” I called, striding down the line.

A short time later, the match between the two boys-- whose names I later learned were Jack and Edward-- was finished. Edward, the lanky, skinny and greasy young man, with hair that was slightly too long, had won, by one point. Almost immediately after he had shouted a victory cry, Cat and Vergil’s match drew to a close, with Cat the winner.

The winners of the other matches-- Maya, Clarus and Hadrian-- after brief celebrations, quietened down and waited for instructions about the next round.

“Excellent. Now we move on to the second round. Maya, please fence Edward; Cat, please fence Clarus. Tacitus, please rejoin the tournament and fence Hadrian. As before, whoever loses is out, and whoever wins will move onto the next round, of which I will be a part. Now then… en garde, ready, fence!”

I rapidly went to watch Cat and Clarus’ fight. In the first round, I had noticed that Cat displayed a high level of skill, and was able to beat Vergil easily, so I reckoned that he was ready to try his hand against a more seasoned fencer. Although I was almost certain that he would lose, I nevertheless wanted to see how well he could hold his own against the likes of Clarus-- who was, despite his other flaws, a wonderful swordsman.

Clarus won the first point with ease, since Cat was just getting used to his aggressive, attack-heavy style of fencing. The second point too was won by Clarus, but it took some time, and he had to fend off a number of excellent thrusts and lunges from Cat. I could see that he had become aware of how much Clarus relied on rapid attacks and barrages of blows, but poor Cat was not yet skilled enough to be able to parry them all and gain the advantage, so that he could have an opportunity to attack Clarus.

“Two to me, my dear Catullus!” Clarus exclaimed, with a chuckle. “I really should be going easy on you.”

Cat laughed at this fighting talk, putting on a confident façade despite the fact that he was close to losing. They then began to fence. O, some god must have put inspiration and fire in his limbs, for Cat was as skilful as Achilles, as Scipio, as Caesar, as Mars himself! He was like the wind, a raging fire burning through the forest, a garlanded dancer stepping to the beat of a Bacchic song. I could barely breathe as I beheld him.

But Fortune laid a cruel hand upon him, and he stepped wrongly, opened his body up to attack. Clarus lunged forward and hit Cat on the chest, perfectly and squarely, the foil bending into a U-shape. Both fencers relaxed, standing up out of their low stances and shaking hands. Cat removed his helmet and ran a hand through his hair, which was exceedingly sweaty and plastered to his face.

“That was so hard!” he panted. “God, you’re amazing.”

“I have been doing it for years, my friend; probably at least a decade. However, you were quite a match. You have natural talent.”

“Thanks!” Cat beamed, the smile going all the way up to his eyes, making them glimmer with a wonderful, lustrous light.

It was now time for the third round to begin. I placed Maya, the winner of her fight against Edward, with Tacitus. I placed myself against Clarus, for I wanted to see just how good he was. None of the Secundi Filii have been fencing as long as I have, and although Clarus is one of the best of them, I did not know whether he was skilled enough to beat me.

I quickly stretched my muscles and loosened my fencing arm, then sunk into a flawless fencing stance. I called out the necessary commands, and the matches began. Those who had been eliminated from the tournament called encouragement to the four of us from the side of the hall, clapping and cheering and screaming for their favourite to win. I heard Cat’s beautiful, melodious voice with its lilting sing-song tone ring out above the others’ shouts, and this filled me with an unquenchable desire to win.

I attacked suddenly, catching Clarus off-guard and managing to sneak my foil round his previously tight defence. There was a buzz, and the light closest to me flashed on the electrics. It was red, a proud colour. Immediately, the counter above the light changed from ‘00’ to ‘01’.

“Yes! Go Plinius!” Cat exclaimed, applauding my excellent fencing.

In short, I won the match with ease. Clarus proved to be no match for my skill, and made novice mistakes that enabled me to penetrate his defences and secure points. Although in some respects he put up a good fight, I was surprised that he was so simple to defeat. He only managed to score one point against me!

Maya and Tacitus promptly finished their fight, Tacitus taking the final point with a beautiful parry and riposte. This signalled that it was time for the final round. Of course it would be me against Tacitus! This was exactly how I had wanted things to turn out.

“Ah, my dear friend, we finally cross swords!” he exclaimed with a laugh.

“Indeed, Tacitus; I have been waiting some time to do this,” I replied, smirking slightly.

We took our places and sunk down into perfect fencing stance. Clarus stepped up to referee the match, signalling for us to begin. Immediately, Tacitus leapt forward, thrusting his sword out to try and confuse me with a sudden attack. I swiftly dodged to one side and parried the blow, making Tacitus overshoot and stumble past me. Before I could savagely lunge at his back, he turned around and began an onslaught of blows.

“Halt!” Clarus screeched. “Your wires are going to tangle! Back to your original places; we shall start this again.”

We returned to where we were originally standing, so that the wires connecting our jackets to the electrics boxes did not cross and hinder our movements.

“Now, be sensible this time,” said Clarus. “En garde… ready… fence!”

Before Tacitus could react, I lunged, attacking him with ferocity and skill. He stepped backwards, only just avoiding my blade. He did not parry, meaning that I still had the advantage and could attack once again. I advanced upon him, my weapon flashing as it cut through the air. Tacitus evaded each blow, beating it away with his foil, but was not swift enough to counter. With a smile crossing my face, I lunged one final time, my foil bending against his lower abdomen.

The green light on my side of the electrics lit up with a buzz.

“Touche!” Clarus cried. “Plinius, one; Tacitus, zero.”

We took our places in preparation for the next point, then began to fence. My mind was elsewhere, still glowing from my small victory, so Tacitus snuck around my defences and managed to achieve a hit. Gritting my teeth, I redoubled my efforts for the next point, moving so fast that my foil was a blur.

“Wonderful, Plinius!” Tacitus exclaimed. “You are proving to be quite a match!”

My body was filled with a pure and indescribable joy. Tacitus had complimented me! I had not felt such sweet euphoria since Cat had kissed me on the cheek some weeks ago.

Distracted by my overwhelming emotions, I made a very poor lunge and opened myself up to attack. Tacitus extended his arm and aimed for my chest, but, like a novice, he missed. Emitting a cry of triumph from my throat, I lunged once more, winning the point with flawless technical skill and accuracy.

“Touche! Plinius has two points, and Tacitus one,” Clarus announced. “En garde… ready… fence!”

Victory was so close, I could taste it. It could have been the sweat from my upper lip, but my poetic heart was soaring and running wild at that moment.

The final point was a blur of rapid movement, of sparkling blades, of foils slicing through the air. We poured everything we had into this fight, limbs invigorated with floods of adrenaline, feet as swift as Mercury as he skims the white crests of the salt-sea waves on his way to dark Erebus. (Upon reading this entry for the second time, I apologise for the repetition of a Mercury simile.)

The allotted time for the match ended, and Clarus let us have a short break. Cat rushed over to me and placed his hands on my shoulders, speaking to me through the mesh of my helmet:

“You are so, so amazing, Plinius. Keep going; I believe in you!”

My heart skipped a thousand beats and my knees grew weak. I had to win this fight! For Cat!

It was over in a matter of moments. Tacitus attacked first, with a slick step forward and a subtle thrust, but I parried it with such force that he stumbled backwards. His entire body open and undefended, I leapt forwards, crashing into him and stabbing my foil in a downwards motion. My light flashed and the counter changed to ‘03’. Glory be to Mars, I had won!

After he had composed himself, Tacitus got out of fencing stance and extended a hand, which I duly shook.

“Excellent match, my friend,” he said, slapping me on the upper arm amicably. A thrill coursed through my body, followed by a rush of shame: why was I having such reactions to both Cat and Tacitus? I could not possibly be romantically interested in both of them; it simply would not be proper.

“Yes, indeed,” I managed to reply. “You are an extremely talented foilist.”

“Aha, but wait until you see my epée! I fear that not even _you_ will be able to defeat me.”

We both chuckled heartily for a moment, then I turned to address the group of fencers.

“Now, as you can see, Tacitus advanced to the final of the competition, but did not beat me, meaning that he will be given the honour of vice-captaincy. Our session for today is over, so feel free to get changed and go home. Thank you all very much for attending, and I hope to see you next week.”

Everyone began to file out of the hall, save for Tacitus, who was waiting to get his horsehair crest. Noticing that I still had my helmet on, I handed it to him, giving him instructions on how to attach it. Eyes glimmering with the elation of victory, he bade me farewell and left the sports hall.

I turned around to watch him leave and saw Cat walking over.

“That was brilliant!” he said, once he had reached me. “You are such a good fencer!”

“W-well, I… I have been doing it for some time,” I replied, tripping over the words as my heart fluttered in my chest.

“You are so amazing.” His voice became softer, more sincere.

As swiftly as a thought, or a warm summer wind, he was next to me, taking off my helmet and placing his lips on mine. My heart and mind were reeling, floating, spinning, overcome with emotions that I could not even name. He kissed me only for a moment, but Venus slowed down time and it felt like forever, like a beautiful forever. My senses and reactions were dulled, drunk on the honeyed wine of love, so hazy that I could not kiss back. I was left just standing there as he pulled away, my lips parted, my body glowing, my heart aflame with so many wonderful feelings.

This was the rush of infatuation-- no, love-- that inspires poets to take up their pens and pour everything out, scrawling unintelligible words, smudging ink as they try to capture this perfect moment. This was the rush that robs you of words but makes you beg for them, clogging up your throat but lighting up your mind, so that you ache with the desire to articulate, to elaborate, to declare the magnitude of your love, but all language has left you. Such were the feelings that overwhelmed me when Cat’s lips touched mine.

The air was thick with silence, as we both simply stared at each other, looking deep into each other’s eyes as we wondered what we could possibly say. Eventually, Cat turned his head, covering his face with his hand, no doubt to hide his reddening cheeks.

“I’m so sorry… that was so uncalled-for… I--”

“Do not apologize,” I replied, my voice quivering, weak, shaky. “That was… I cannot even find the words! The Latin language, which has served me so well before, could not possibly do justice to what I am feeling.”

Cat smiled, throwing his arms around me.

“That is _so you_ , Plinius, oh my God,” he said, through peals of his joyous, melodious laughter. “You’ve always got to be so eloquent!”

“Eloquence is a gift bestowed upon me only when I am overcome with extreme emotion. At this moment, I… well, you know…”

“Ah, so you _can_ be made speechless!” Cat exclaimed, the confidence in his voice and the sparkle in his eyes making my heart beat fast, like that messenger Phidippides’ feet pounding against the ground as he made the run from Marathon to Athens to inform his countrymen of their victory on the plain. “The great Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus, speechless! I can barely believe my achievement.”

All I could do was grin, and submit to Cat’s warm embrace. This had been a truly spectacular day.


	17. 7th October, 2015

07/10/15

 

From the meeting of the fencing society up until today, my mind was occupied with thoughts of Cat. I spent all time outside of lessons with him, shyly showing affection in a way that no one would notice. We never kissed again, but this did not upset me; I still had the memories of that Thursday afternoon playing in my head.

            This morning, I entered school, and after registration, began to make my way to the library so that I could spend my study period in a peaceful, productive setting. I ached to see Cat, for I had certain things to say to him, but I was content with sitting and completing my homework for this hour. I had Classical Civilisation tomorrow; I supposed that I could bear to wait until then.

            The moment that I stepped into the library with its heady scent of old books, the librarian glared at me.

            “Yes, ma’am, I will be absolutely silent,” I snapped.

            The librarian nodded, content that I knew exactly what she wanted of me.

            I sauntered over to a desk and placed my books and folders all over it, making sure to be noisy in order to irritate the librarian. I had a look at my leather-bound Filofax organiser to see what homework I had to complete, and found that most of it had been done already. All I had to do was write a plan for a Philosophy essay, which was not due until next week.

            I began to do this task, consulting my notes and textbook to stimulate me and help me come up with some points to argue. I was about halfway through when Cat walked in.

            O, how the butterflies in my stomach frenzied! I bit my lip, as if that would somehow temper my rush of feeling. He looked over, saw me, and waved, causing me to melt inside. He then sat down at the desk next to me, slinging his sensible and stylish satchel onto the floor.

            “Morning, Plinius,” he said, in English (for some reason). Rubbing his eyes, he corrected himself and repeated his greeting in Latin. “Sorry, I am like properly tired today…”

            “And when you’re tired, you do not revert to your mother tongue, but to your second language?” I laughed, making sure not to be too loud and anger the librarian.

            “I wouldn’t say that English is my second language, actually,” he replied, in a languid and clearly tired way. “I was... bestowed with the gift of learning it at the same time as I learnt Latin.”

He smiled at what I assumed was a sly reference to my words at that fencing society meeting, about eloquence being ‘bestowed’ upon me at moments of extreme emotion.

“My mind is programmed to assume that most people in this country _don’t_ speak Latin, you know?” he continued. Then he perked up slightly: “Anyway, I should probably get on with some homework, shouldn’t I?”

            “I… um…” I began, struggling to find the right words. “I actually… uh, I actually had something else in mind…”

            Cat’s mouth dropped open in an expression of mock surprise. “ _You_? Suggesting that I _don’t_ do homework? What has the world come to?!”

            I could not help but smile at this.

            “I have something to ask you, actually, Cat,” I managed to say, without a single stutter.

            “And what might that be?”

            “It would probably be better to go outside, for there are people here.”

            “I agree, Gaius!” the librarian barked. “You are already being too loud! And you-- what’s your name?”

            Cat looked at me for a moment, giving a cheeky (and attractive) grin.

            “Oh, I’m Gaius,” he answered.

            “You too? Christ… Well, if neither of you can shut up, I _will_ throw you out.”

            I turned back to Cat and motioned for us to leave. We crept out of the library, my palms sweating and my entire body shaking.

            “What was it?” asked Cat, his expression sincere, almost sympathetic, as if he suspected that I would be giving him bad news.

            “Well… I was… I was just thinking… would you, um, would you like to… maybe… do something, this weekend? Perhaps a… film? Or a cafe? Or there is this, um, this art gallery opening that I would like to--”  
            “Yes!” he exclaimed, before I finished my sentence. “I would love to! Let’s go to that gallery! It would be so much fun!”

            His eyes were sparkling like the surface of a lake underneath the silver moon, but he refrained from embracing me, as students were walking by.

            “I would absolutely love to spend time with you,” Cat said, lowering his voice so that only I could hear.

            “And I you,” I replied, immediately cursing myself for how impersonal and distant it sounded. So I tried again: “Apologies, I mean… I love you?”

            Cat burst out laughing, as my cheeks burned red. That was the _worst possible way_ that I could have messed up my words! I could barely believe myself. All I had meant to say was that I would love to spend time with him!

            “Steady on, Plinius! We haven’t even gone on one date yet!” he exclaimed, smiling widely, eyes brimming with happiness.

            I could not reply to this, but pinched the bridge of my nose, still hot with embarrassment at my failure.

            “I have never had trouble finding words before,” I finally said. “I think it is because I am talking to you.”

            I realised the romantic implications of the words after they had left my lips, and after Cat had made the sweetest, most beautiful expression. His entire face seemed to be saying ‘Do you really mean it? Do you really love me that much? I have no words to say except that I love you too!’

            “Stop, this is too much!” he said, laughing his wonderful musical laugh. “No one’s ever been this nice to me before!”

            I stopped.

            “Are you saying that no one has ever had romantic feelings for you, or acted upon them?” I asked, utterly confused as to what sort of a world we lived in, in which no one had ever fallen in love with Cat.

            “I don’t think so,” he replied. “I’ve, like, never really gone out with anyone before? Or maybe I have? Well, there’s never been anyone who I’ve actually properly liked and then dated. I mean, I’ve been on dates with people, but they weren’t exactly… good? I’ve never had, like, an actual boyfriend before-- not that you are! Ah, shit…”

            We both laughed for a moment, then returned to the library to continue with our homework. I could barely concentrate, so overcome with exhilaration and joy I was. This had been such a successful day!-- no, more than successful; it had been positively sublime. Venus has truly been smiling on me recently.

 


	18. 8th October, 2015

08/10/15

 

A strange phenomenon has been brought to my attention by a particular incident today.

Over the weeks that I have been in school, after the ‘Plebby’ disaster had died down, I began to notice a number of people start calling me ‘Plini’ (or ‘Pliny’; the reason for this spelling will be explained later). At first, I did not think anything of it: ‘Plini’ is the correct vocative of my name, so my Latin-speaking friends always use it when addressing me. I did not register that it was odd when those who do not speak Latin used it too. However, this morning, I had a sudden realisation, after a group activity in Political Science.

I had been placed in a group with three plebs (for brevity, I tend to use ‘plebs’ to refer to those who do not speak Latin), and we had been tasked to create a poster which could be used for revision, since we had just finished our current unit and were preparing for an end-of-unit test. We worked rather well for the whole lesson, since two of the members of my group were extremely creative and were content with completing the task by themselves. I simply sat back and reviewed my notes, occasionally speaking to the other member of the group who was not drawing. 

Soon enough, the lesson was reaching its end, so Mr Traianus, our teacher, bade us finish the last details on our posters and hand them to him. 

“Make sure to put your names on the back!” he called, just as people began to stand up in order to give him their posters. 

One of the members of the group scribbled all four of our names on the back of the poster, then handed it to me, since I was sitting closest to the front desk. As I got up to hand it in to Mr Traianus, I had a quick look at the back and found that an unspeakable crime had been committed.

She had written my name as ‘Pliny’. 

“This is not the correct spelling of my name,” I informed her.

“Isn’t it? Oh, how do you spell it?” Thankfully, she seemed genuinely sorry. (Upon looking at the poster, I saw that her name was not a common English one, and therefore prone to being misspelled. This led me to believe that she sympathised with others’ names being misspelled.)

“Firstly, it is  _ Plinius _ , not ‘Pliny’, and it is spelled P-L-I-N-I-U-S.”

“Plinius?” she repeated. Before I could reply, Mr Traianus bellowed at me to give him the poster, so I did, then continued to speak to my fellow student:

“Yes, that is correct.”

“How come your friends call you ‘Pliny’, then?”

“It is… it is difficult to explain,” I said, sighing. I did not want to get into the particulars of Latin grammar at this moment.

“Is it cos you speak a different language?”

“Basically, yes. Bye now; it was pleasant to work with you today.”

That, I thought, was the end of the ‘Pliny’ business. I was wrong.

At the end of the day, I rushed over to the sports hall and changed into my kit in preparation for fencing society. The fencers slowly filtered in, got changed and stood in front of me, waiting for my instructions.

“Good afternoon,” I said. “Today, I will introduce you to a new fencing weapon: the sabre. This can be a difficult weapon to master, and I guarantee that some of you will not enjoy it. Sabre is not for everyone-- some absolutely love it, and the rest despise it. After this session, you will find out into which camp you fall. Before we begin, does anyone have any questions?--” I paused for a moment-- “No? Excellent. Now, let me give you your weapons, and we can begin. This session will be like last week’s, so please go to the correct end of the sports hall.”

The group split into two, the established fencers picking up sabres and pairing off for matches. The beginners’ group stood quietly as I retrieved some sabres, all gleaming and new, from my weapons bag. When I handed one to Maya, she uttered some utterly shocking words:

“Um, Pliny? I have a question…”

I stared at her, caught off-guard by the use of this heinous name. 

“Pliny? Did you just say ‘Pliny’?” I asked.

“Yes…?”

“You are aware that my name is not Pliny, are you not?”

Violet, Jack and Edward raised a shout.

“What?!” they all exclaimed. “Isn’t it?”

“No!” I replied, exasperated. “What on earth gave you that impression?”

I then recalled my conversation earlier that day. 

“All of your friends call you that,” said Jack. “Right, Catullus? You call him ‘Pliny’, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but--” Cat began, before he was interrupted by Jack.

“Exactly. So, why would he call you that if it’s not your name, or a nickname, or anything?”

“My dear pleb,” I said, ready to give him a lecture, “you may have noticed that my friends and I speak Latin when we are amongst each other. In Latin, the vocative case of my name is indeed ‘Plini’, but the nominative is ‘Plinius’.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Are you not familiar with noun cases?” I asked, shocked.

“What are they?”

“O,  _ di immortales _ … Please, begin to fence, and I shall explain it to you.”

Jack and Edward paired up and joined the line of the fighting fencers. Once they had set off on a match, I discussed with them the particulars of Latin cases.

“Now, there are a number of cases in Latin, which denote what part the word in the sentence is playing-- is it doing the verb? Is it having the verb done to it? Is it indirectly affected by the verb? In English, there is no such system, but Latin is an extremely precise language. Are you listening?”

“Yeah, yeah,” they both replied.

“Good. So, each case is distinguished by a different ending. The nominative case is the ‘normal’ case, used for the… the  _ thing  _ in the sentence that does the verb. So, for example, in the sentence ‘Edward hits Jack’, ‘Edward’ is the nominative. My name in the nominative-- its ‘normal’ form-- is Plinius. 

“There is also a vocative case, used for directly addressing someone. The vocative of ‘Plinius’ is ‘Plini’, and therefore, when my Latin-speaking friends address me, they will call me ‘Plini’. Of course, in day-to-day conversation, the vocative is one of the most-used cases for people’s names, so to the rest of you, it seems that my name could perhaps be ‘Plini’. I assure you, it is not; my name is Plinius, Gaius Plinius Luci filius Caecilius Secundus. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, sure,” replied Jack. “But ‘Pliny’ is easier to say.”

I groaned. “Well, if you must call me that, you must also spell it correctly. I have been already made aware that at least one person spells it P-L-I-N-Y. It is P-L-I-N- _ I _ . Please remember this.”

“There’s an ‘i’ at the end? Nah, mate, that looks stupid. It’s better with a ‘y’.”

“But that is not correct!” I cried.

“That’s what you get for having a weird name.”

I wanted to reply with a biting comeback, but I held my tongue, not wanting to make enemies in my own fencing society. I left the two boys to their match.

For the rest of the afternoon and evening, I pondered on this ‘Plini’ vs. ‘Pliny’ business. It highly unsettled me, but I could not entirely figure out why. I supposed that it was just the general stress of dealing with plebs daily reaching its pinnacle and driving me closer to breaking point. I would have to get used to interacting with these commoners, before it was too late. 


	19. 10th October, 2015

10/10/15

 

What a glorious day this has been! I can barely hold my pen for the excitement of it all.

            Cat and I had arranged to meet at the art gallery at approximately 2:30pm, so that we could spend some time there and then sit in a cafe for an afternoon drink and snack. The night before, I could hardly sleep, since I was thinking too much about what could happen, and was letting my mind get carried away. Dozens of possible scenarios flashed through my mind, thrilling me deeply as I imagined how wonderful it would be if they came true.

            In the morning, I shuffled to the bathroom and gazed at myself in the mirror. How haggard I looked! Immediately, I cursed myself for not sleeping. Huge, sunken, dark circles were under my eyes, as well as unsightly bags. I looked dead.

            What could I possibly do? Splashing water onto my face multiple times, I tried to somehow wash away my disgusting appearance. Of course, this did not work, so I found myself with one other option: makeup. I snuck quietly to my mother’s bedroom, trying not to disturb her whilst she slept, and located her makeup box. It was filled with expensive and luxurious products, most of which I had never seen or heard of. Eventually, I found a small bottle of liquid that looked to be approximately my skin tone, so I took it and returned to my chambers.

            I was not entirely sure what this product was, so I squeezed some out onto my finger and smeared it beneath my eyes. To my horror, it was too light, and made me look as pale as a ghost. What was worse, it was only in that one area! I looked utterly absurd!

            The only logical next step, in my mind, was to cover my entire face. I slathered the liquid all over my skin, including my neck, and tried to make it look natural by blending it with my finger. But it was horrific. When I stepped into the shower and turned on the water, the product began to drip off, and when I dried myself off, it stained my towel. Why do people bother with makeup? It only causes more problems than it solves.

            I continued my morning toilet, accepting the fact that I would have to look like an exhausted corpse for the entire day. Hopefully, Cat would not be repelled by this. I spent almost half an hour deliberating over what to wear-- should it be casual? Formal? A mixture? I decided to go for a semi-casual outfit consisting of a navy blue long-sleeved shirt, a cream cable-knit cardigan and a pair of chinos in a classic sandy brown colour. I had a small moment of panic, since this was _far_ more casual than I usually dressed, and I was terrified that Cat would think that I had not tried hard enough.

            For the entire morning, I sat in my study, my insides gnawing at themselves as I attempted to do my Classical Civilisation homework. I was so nervous that I could not concentrate, and irrational worries were flying through my head. On any other day, I would have immediately laughed and considered them utterly ridiculous, but my anxious mind was clouded, and these situations that I was imagining seemed totally plausible.

            After doing some extensive deep breathing exercises, I glanced at the clock and noticed that it was almost time to leave. I did need to eat lunch, but I was still panicking, and the thought of food seemed abhorrent. With a shaking hand I rung the bell to call for Jonty, and he appeared at my door promptly.

            “Prepare my litter, please,” I instructed, my voice quivering pitifully.

            “Certainly, sir,” replied Jonty, bowing. “Would you like anything else? Something to calm you down, perhaps?”

            “No. Be gone,” I snapped.

            He bowed again and trotted away to carry out my orders.

            Soon enough, the bell by my desk rung, signalling that the litter was ready. I went to the atrium, crossed to the front doors and found it outside waiting for me, all the upholstery freshly cleaned and smelling fragrant. I climbed inside and gave my litter-bearers the directions to where I needed to go. Looking at my watch, I began to panic once more, since I only had fifteen minutes before the time at which we had arranged to meet. If I were late, Cat would surely think me a disgraceful brute.

            I shouted at the litter-bearers to hurry up, so they broke into a run, weaving past confused pedestrians ambling down the pavements. They knocked over a couple of plebs by accident, but I forbade them from stopping to help. I simply could not be late.

            Finally, the art gallery appeared in front of me, and my litter-bearers halted in front of the grand staircase that led up to the doors. My heart stopped when I saw Cat sitting on one of the steps, looking like a god in his casual clothing. (Thus far I was used to only seeing him in the formal dress code that our school required.)

            I bounded up the stairs, calling his name and waving.

            “Hey, Plinius!” he exclaimed.

            “Good afternoon, Cat. You look positively…” I stopped, not knowing what word would give off the right impression, and not make me seem too forward. “... handsome,” was the word that eventually left my lips.

            “Thank you!” he replied. “So, um, so do you!”

            He stood up and we ascended the wide staircase to enter the gallery. We paid the small entrance fee, obtained a free map of the building, and set off on our way.

            “So, Cat, where would you like to go first? What art movement is your favourite?”

            “Uh… I’m not sure… I don’t really know anything about art, to be honest.”

            “Oh, my dear, I must teach you! Let us begin in the Pre-Raphaelite gallery, then go to the Baroque, and finally the Neoclassical gallery. I simply cannot wait to tell you all about my favourite pieces: I do hope that some of them are displayed here.”

            Giddy with excitement, I perused the map and located the Pre-Raphaelite gallery. It seemed to be quite a large area, which excited me, as this art movement was my favourite. (And in fact, the Baroque movement was my second-favourite, and the Neoclassical my third, hence why I had decided upon this order in which to move through the art gallery.)

            The first painting that caught my eye was one by John William Waterhouse-- I could tell this within moments, from the distinctive style and subject of the piece. Cat also noticed it, and commented on how pretty it looked.

            “What can you tell me about this one, then?” he asked, an amused, lightheartedly mocking smile on his face.

            “I believe this is one of Circe--”

            “Circe like in _The Odyssey_?” Cat interrupted.

            “Exactly!”

            I then told him more details about the painting, and he asked many intelligent questions. I could practically _see_ his mind expanding with the new knowledge. We then walked slowly around the room, inspecting each and every painting on the wall. Cat seemed to be drawn to the ones painted with light, vibrant colours, or depicting a mythological theme. He especially loved the paintings depicting myths that he particularly liked. It was extremely illuminating, and I felt that I had been given a glimpse into his personality, even his soul.

            We next moved into the Baroque gallery, and immediately Cat noted how dark all of the paintings looked. He did not seem to like these pieces at all, even though I pointed out some notable impressive features on my favourites. He accidentally stepped on the boundary around an original painting-- most in the gallery were reproductions-- and set off the alarm, meaning that we were swiftly escorted out of the room by a fearsome security guard.

            The Neoclassical gallery also seemed not to be to Cat’s taste, so I let him take control and choose where we next went. He chose to go to the Impressionist gallery, and immediately fell in love with the style and most of the paintings. Personally, I could not see what drew him so deeply to this art movement, but I respected his personal preferences, melting inside as I saw how excited and passionate he was about the pieces.

            “Okay, I actually quite like art,” he eventually concluded. “I never really thought too much of it before, but I guess now that you’ve explained stuff so well, I--”

            “Shh!” a security guard ordered, as we moved into the next room. To my horror, this was a special display of modern art, my most loathed style. There seemed to be some sort of performance piece in progress, which required complete silence.

            Cat and I stood at the back of the crowd and looked over their heads to see what was happening. Thankfully, we are both slightly taller than average (especially me), so we were able to view the piece without having to stand on our toes or crane our necks.

            It turned out to be a very fascinating piece of performance art, with many Classical references that I appreciated. There were particular references to some parts of _The Odyssey_ , and a number of the statues which we had just been studying in Classical Civilisation, and each time a reference was made, Cat gently elbowed me and gave me a knowing smile.

            The piece itself was a video, with live action elements that added an extra layer of interest. The video and the group of artists in front of us seamlessly blended into one another, members of the group finishing off sentences spoken in the video, or appearing to pluck objects from the screen in order to use or display them. The theme of the piece seemed to be the idea of worship, and who in the modern day we pray to and revere (mostly celebrities; a criminally overdone topic), and the group of people in front of us were almost dancing, moving in ways reminiscent of the chorus in Ancient Greek drama. It was one of the more intriguing pieces of performance art I have come across, but did not greatly interest me.

            Cat, too, was not enjoying it, but when we turned around to leave, we found that the doors to the room had been closed and security guards were standing in front of them. A member of the audience tried to get past them, but was physically stopped and told to return to their place.

            “This is fucking boring!” Cat hissed, leaning close to my ear so that others would not hear his words. “How long will this go on?”

            At that moment, the lights were turned off, and music began to swell dramatically. I groaned audibly at this predictable turn of events, incurring a tirade of shushing from fellow audience members. Rolling my eyes, I began to look around the room, completely uninterested in the so-called ‘art’.

            All of a sudden, Cat rested his head on my shoulder and moved close to me. I could have screamed with joy, and I actually jumped at this contact. How unexpected, but how wonderful this was! I did not know what to do in response, to wordlessly show that I approved of it. In a panic, I turned to look at him, and he gave me the most endearing smile: slightly nervous, warm, with genuine sincerity, emotion and happiness shining through.

The only thing I could think to do at that moment was embrace him, so I did, immediately cursing myself for the awkward and clumsy way in which I did this. He then slipped his arms around my waist, and an electric current coursed through me. This date was turning out to be exactly as I had hoped!

“Am I doing the right thing?” I suddenly blurted out. Cat began to laugh, looking up at me with his wonderful eyes, which were the colour of the forest after a storm, shining and vivid and richly green. I could not see their true colour in the darkness, but I knew how beautiful they were nonetheless.

“Of course you are!” he replied, in a voice barely above a whisper, his lips just inches away from my ear, making me go wild with emotion. “You’re doing everything perfectly right!”

“Thank the gods…” I said without thinking. O, how my usual eloquence was failing me! “I was so afraid that I was doing something wrong… I am not sure how this ‘date’ business works…”

Cat could not reply, as he began to laugh softly, placing his head in the space between my neck and shoulder. The feeling of his hair tickling the line of my jaw suddenly and inexplicably brought home how real this moment was, overwhelming my mind and body with emotions. This was truly happening! My wildest dreams were now all coming true!

After moments of silent, gorgeous embrace, Cat once again looked up to me. Since he was so close, his parted lips as he turned his head brushed gently against my skin, and this sent me into ecstasy. He was trying to kiss me! Surely he was trying to kiss me!

So I too turned my head towards him, hoping to take the lead and advance this moment to its next logical level. His eyes widened like the planet Venus when he realised what was about to happen, and pulled back momentarily.

“You wanna…? _Really_?” he whispered. “Oh shit… Now _I’m_ the one being awkward…”

We both laughed, our faces just inches away from each other, our foreheads practically touching.

“Well, you first kissed me, so I think I should now kiss you, should I not?” I said, trying to inject a suitable amount of romance and seductiveness into my voice. Inside, self-consciousness was eating me up, and I frantically questioned whether I was acting correctly, or sounding like a complete creep (for want of a better word).

“Oh, really?” he teased. As he said this, his arms moved from my waist to round my shoulders, and I did the opposite. This caused us to be pulled closer together, our bodies pressed sensually against each other. The new position simply felt _so right_ , as if our bodies had been made and molded for this very purpose.

“So much for this art piece, right?” Cat joked, clearly wanting to diffuse his anxiety and nervousness with humour.

I blush and burn with embarrassment even now at what I said in reply: “The only art worth seeing here is you.”

As I came to the realisation of the utter absurdity of what I had just let fall from my lips, as my eyes widened and my mouth dropped open with complete mortification, Cat burst out laughing, extremely loudly, ruining an otherwise silent and tense moment in the art performance. Swiftly, security guards descended upon us, telling us to leave the room immediately. We did not argue, but rushed out, walking quickly through the other rooms whilst practically cackling. I personally was unsure _exactly_ what was so humorous, but my entire body was high on sublime emotions, and my mind and senses were not totally sharp.

As we strode out of the front doors, Cat slipped his hand into mine, glancing at me for some sort of approval. I replied by holding his hand a little tighter.

“This has been such a great day,” he said, flicking his unkempt hair out of his eyes. “Thank you so much… for everything, I guess!”

“And thank you for coming!” I replied, trying my hardest not to trip over my words. “Do you need to go home now? Is this goodbye?”

Cat had a quick look at his phone. “Oh, it’s so early! I don’t need to be home by, like, six. Relatives coming round for dinner and everything.”

“Where shall we go, then? Perhaps a nearby cafe?”

“Sounds good. There’s one right there, actually. How about that one?”

“It looks quite pleasant. Since the weather is good, why don’t we sit outside?”

“Yes! Okay!”

We walked to the cafe-- for my litter-bearers were gone and would be coming back at a fixed time-- and took a seat on one of the dainty, delicate white metal tables with matching chairs. A waiter descended upon us, handing us small menus designed in a minimalist style. I had a quick browse of mine, and then glanced up to find Cat peering at me over the top of his menu. When I caught his gaze, he raised one eyebrow in an extremely cheeky manner.

“You still owe me a kiss, if I remember rightly,” he said, the warmth in his smile leaking out into his voice.

“Yes… Indeed… I-- I do…” I stammered, getting flustered once again.

“So when will I be getting that?”

My throat dried up from sheer anxiety, and I had to cough and swallow a few times before I was able to speak:

“When I have had a drink…”

Cat burst out laughing, putting a hand over his mouth-- something I have noticed that he does quite often.

“Why are you hiding your smile?” I asked, extremely concerned that he wanted to cover up that radiant, world-brightening smile of his.

“Because it’s disgusting!” he exclaimed, as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.

“What on earth are you talking about? It is beautiful!”

“Thanks, but I mean, have you _seen_ it? My teeth are so crooked, all crossed over each other and shit…”

“Preposterous! There is _nothing_ wrong with your teeth! I simply cannot believe that you are unable to see how lovely you look when you smile.”

He then smiled at this remark, and instinctively covered his mouth with his hand. The sight broke my heart (and it still breaks my heart every time I see it).

“You have been blessed by the gods in every way, from your looks to your brains to your personality, and everything else otherwise. Do not ever forget that,” I said, pleased that my voice sounded genuinely sincere, not sarcastic and cold like it usually did.

He glanced away, no longer holding my gaze. When he looked back at me, we gazed into each other’s eyes for blissful moments, whilst I furiously debated within myself whether to lean over the table and kiss him. But I panicked at the last moment, for I had never kissed anyone before in this manner. I did not have the faintest clue how to go about it.

“Ready to order, guys?” the waiter asked, appearing suddenly by our table. We both told him what we wanted, and he scuttled away.

Our drinks arrived promptly, so promptly that we did not have time to continue our conversation. Then we spent a long, long time talking, slowly sipping our drinks, passing the time so wonderfully. I kept looking for opportunities to kiss him, but I always missed any chances that arose due to my fear.

Eventually, my litter-bearers trotted up to the cafe, signalling that it was time to leave. This was my chance, my final chance to kiss him!

But alas, I did not take it. I hovered next to him, stuttering over my farewell, unsure whether to step closer to embrace him, kiss him or both. In my fit of nervousness, I went for an awkward hug, cursing myself vehemently as I wrapped my arms around him.

“I had such a good time,” said Cat, as I pulled away from him. “Thanks for inviting me out!”

“And thank you for coming, I too had a wonderful time. See you on Monday!”

We parted extremely slowly, our hands touching after we had finished the embrace, lingering, fingers gently brushing each other. When our contact finally ceased, I gave him as sincere a smile as I could muster. He held my gaze for a while, almost as if expecting me to do something, but-- o, how ashamed I am-- I bade him farewell, turned away and returned to my litter.

I slapped the upholstery within my litter and threw one of the cushions out in rage. What had I done? What had possessed me to simply _leave_ Cat without a parting kiss? That was my last chance! And I totally blew it! Ugh. Sometimes I do frustrate myself.

As soon as I got home, I rushed to the altar of our household gods and prepared an offering for them, and Venus in particular. I thanked them for the splendid day that I had just had, and requested-- if any of my previous offerings had pleased them-- that they continue to smile on me and bless me with luck in love. They had been treating me well thus far.

 


	20. 12th October, 2015

12/10/15

 

The gods may have heard my prayer for success in romance, but they did this at the expense of success in education.

            The moment that I stepped into my form room for morning registration, my tutor sent me with angry words to Professor Hunton-Blather’s office. I protested, but she raised her voice and practically screamed me out of the room. My tutor has an extremely short fuse, as the saying goes.

            Deciding not to take my litter, since my litter-bearers had just gone the whole tiring journey from my villa to school, I marched to Professor Hunton-Blather’s office, glaring at anyone I passed. Once I was outside, I folded my arms and waited, with a grimace on my face. What in the name of the gods had I done wrong this time?

            “Come in, Plinius,” Professor Hunton-Blather barked from inside her office. I strode in with a sufficiently haughty expression, and sat down on the chair opposite her desk, without even being asked.

            “What do you want?” I snapped.

            “How utterly rude! Do not dare speak to me in this manner!”

            “Fine. But I have absolutely no idea what I have done to deserve this meeting.”

            “No idea? You have _no idea?_ ” she repeated, her tone incredulous. “Has the behavioural contract slipped your mind?”

            My mouth dropped open in complete mortification and horror. I had totally forgotten about my contract! I had not had a single teacher sign it after lessons, nor had I spoken to her about it after the allotted two weeks had ended. This was a shambles, and surely warranted further punishment. What if I were suspended?

            “I am extremely sorry, Professor…” I said, turning my eyes downwards to avoid her furious gaze. “I did in fact let the contract slip my mind.”

            “Oh dear,” she replied, her tone of voice turning from angry to strangely calm. I could detect an undercurrent of malice and venom in her words. “Well, isn’t that unfortunate? You were meant to have seen me on Friday to discuss the progress of your contract.”

            “Again, I apologise--”

            “Do not worry, Plinius. Let us just have a chat about it now. Where is the contract?”

            I reached into my briefcase, which I had recently purchased to replace my rather plebeian rucksack, and rifled through my papers and folders for the contract. My heart sunk right to the bottom of my abdomen, and I felt it, as if I were plummeting down the length of a skyscraper in the lift. The contract was nowhere to be found.

            “I… I am afraid… I am afraid that I may have lost the contract…” I stammered, my voice quivering with fear.

            “What?” she screeched. “Do you have that little respect for me, that you would _lose_ your contract? This is unprecedented, especially coming from you! I am both furious and disappointed at this behaviour.”

            “I am sorry, Professor; I had no idea that it was lo--”

            “Be quiet, before I make your punishment worse. I cannot believe this. I cannot believe that _you_ of all people would not take this seriously. Honestly, your recent behaviour has been shocking, especially as teachers spoke so highly of you at the beginning of the year. Are you sure that there is nothing going on?”

            “No, there is nothing going on,” I replied, sighing with exasperation.

            “Please do not feel that you can’t tell the school about any problems that you may be having. Considering your grades, it seems that work is not the issue, but could it be something else? Are things happening at home? With your friends? With any romantic partners?”

            I felt myself blush at this, alerting Professor Hunton-Blather to the fact that there _was_ something happening with regards to romantic partners.

            “Would you like to talk to me about it? Whatever it is, I am very open-minded and will not judge you. Perhaps I could point you to the school nurse, if it is a sexual problem? Do you need condoms? Resources for STD testing?”

            My face burned crimson at the professor’s embarrassing words.

            “Absolutely not!” I exclaimed. “I need no such advice!”

            “But you reddened when I mentioned romantic partners. Are you completely sure that there is nothing wrong?”

            “Yes!”

            There was silence for a few moments.

            “Alright. Well, I am still not pleased about this contract. What I will do is print you a new one, and this time you will have a week to improve your behaviour. See me on Friday lunchtime. If you have not got your teachers to sign it, I _will_ be taking further action. I have let you off this time, but I will not do it again. This is your last chance.”

            Professor Hunton-Blather printed a new copy of my contract, gave it to me, and bade me farewell. I narrowed my eyes at the piece of paper. This was so utterly insulting. What person would dare consider _my_ behaviour appalling, when people like Regulus prowled the world? It boggles the mind, really.

            Once I got home, I began to do my homework, still simmering with anger over my contract. I could not concentrate due to this, so I stopped and opened my journal to write-- to write this entry, in fact. Releasing all my feelings on paper is quite relaxing, but I am still disgusted that Professor Hunton-Blather thinks that my behaviour is not good, and was considering punishing me more seriously. I do not deserve this! I am the most intelligent person in the year! I get the highest marks in everything! And _this_ is my reward?

            I must call a servant. I cannot continue, with these negative emotions eating me up. I need a massage, to release the stresses and tensions from my body. Ah, I am so extremely glad that I have my weekly eyebrow plucking appointment tomorrow; it always relaxes me. It is of extreme importance that my eyebrows are perfectly shaped, for they are quite unruly otherwise, and getting them plucked-- although somewhat painful-- is an enjoyable activity. It is wonderful to sit in my habitual chair, lean back and let a skilled professional do her work. All the staff in my preferred establishment know me, as I have frequented there for a number of years, and it is a pleasure to speak with them and learn about the goings-on in their lives. We have fostered quite a close relationship.

            Now, my servant is here, and I must go for my massage. I shall end the entry here.


	21. 13th October, 2015

13/10/15

 

Why are the gods so intent on ruining my life? I was not able to enjoy my eyebrow appointment, even though that is one of the things that I look forward to every week! What have I done wrong? What can I do to stop the gods punishing me?

            As soon as school was done for the day, I took my litter to the salon at which I get my eyebrows plucked. I was greeted warmly by the manager of the establishment, who bade me sit down in my usual chair, to wait for the person who would be doing the treatment. She soon arrived, and we too exchanged greetings.

            “Your hair is looking wonderful today,” I noted, as she had changed it from her usual relaxed style to its natural, beautifully curly appearance.

            “Thanks! I’ve been working up the courage to wear my hair natural for a while, but I think it looks good, doesn’t it?”

            “Indeed, it looks very stylish. I especially like the dyed ends-- what is that called? Ombré?”

            “Yeah!” She got out her tools and pushed my chair back, so that I was lying in a more horizontal position. She stood over me, and I got a glimpse of her lipstick: a deep wine-dark matte colour, complementing her dark skin perfectly.

            “Your lipstick is also extremely good,” I said. “You can really pull off such a dark colour-- most of the girls that I have seen wearing similar shades are too pale for it to work. The contrast is startling, and quite unattractive.”

            “Well thanks!” she exclaimed, laughing. “Quite full of compliments today, aren’t we?”

            “I am simply telling the truth, my friend. I am also in a very good mood, as I have been looking forward to this appointment for days. My life has been quite stressful recently.”

            “Oh, what’s up?” she asked, picking up her tweezers.

            “I am being punished for my allegedly poor behaviour,” I replied. “I have no idea what I have done wrong, but it seems that whatever it was happened to not be to the school’s liking.”

            “That sucks. Ready for me to start?”

            “Yes.”

            She got to work, plucking the first hair with minimal pain. She then continued to talk:

            “How are they punishing you?”

            “With a so-called ‘contract’. I have to get a teacher to sign it every single lesson, to prove that I have behaved well. I was given one a couple of weeks ago, but I completely forgot about it. Now, the head of sixth form is utterly furious at me and has given me a new one to complete, or I will face further punishment.”

            “That’s really annoying,” she said, with a slightly amused expression on her face. “But how’s your crush? What’s his name-- Cat?”

            “Oh… yes… him,” I stuttered, cheeks flushing red. “We, um, we met on Saturday.”

            “Aww! That is so cute!”

            “Oh, shush, Charisse!” I cried, feeling my face burn with embarrassment. I should never have told her about Cat-- she had not shut up about him for weeks.

            Charisse only laughed, finding my flustered expression and tone of voice humorous. She pulled a particularly stubborn hair from between my eyebrows, and I winced.

            “You have to tell me more,” she urged. “I am so happy that you finally got together! I knew this would happen; he seems like such a sweet guy.”

            “Well,” I began, grinning from ear to ear as I recalled the memories, “at my fencing society one week, h--”

            Suddenly, a group of girls burst into the salon, and I recognised them immediately. They were from my school! However, they were plebs, so I did not greet them. When they noticed me, they all fell into fits of laughter, giggling and whispering amongst themselves.

            “What is so funny?” I asked, raising my voice to a sufficient level.

            They did not reply, but increased their laughter in pitch and volume. One girl got out her phone and undoubtedly took a photo, but I was powerless to stop her. I would not dare move with Charisse’s tweezers clamped around a hair, ready to pull it out.

            “What are you doing? Stop photographing me!”

            The girls did not obey me.

            Thankfully, Charisse finished quite quickly, so I paid and left, utterly fuming. Those plebs had ruined my day! Totally ruined it! I was having such a pleasant time before they entered. Then they blustered in and began to _laugh_ at me! What on earth was so risible?

            Oh, _di immortales._ What if they were laughing at the fact that I was at a ‘normal’ salon? What if that place is not in fact luxury and high-end? What if it is a _plebeian salon?_ I cannot set foot there again, for my dignity’s sake. I must find a truly high-class establishment, where no one from school can possibly contaminate. Perhaps Cat can recommend a place; an upstanding young man of Roman ancestry such as him must surely get his eyebrows plucked, and will thus be knowledgeable of what salons provide the best services. I cannot ever again be seen at a plebeian establishment. I will not put up with such ridicule on any further occasion.

 


	22. 14th October, 2015

14/10/15

 

Yet another dreadful day. Why must this continually happen to me? Year 11 was perfectly fine, but now that I am in the sixth form, everything is going to the dogs. This is the effect of letting plebs into such a prestigious school!

            When I entered my form room that morning, a number of people turned to look at me. No, they did not just look, they _stared_. I tried not to pay attention to them, but I noticed that they were eyeing my every move, as I walked to my desk, sat down and placed my briefcase on the floor. It was rather unsettling.

            “Nice eyebrows, Pliny!” one rowdy young man shouted out, smiling smugly as the rest of the class burst out laughing. I simply sneered at them, my face contorting into a scornful expression.

            I spent the morning’s study period dealing with similar sort of behaviour. Many sixth formers were simply staring at me from afar, whereas others decided to make ‘amusing’ comments about my eyebrows. I heard the phrase “eyebrows on fleek” more times than I could count. Undoubtedly, those girls who had spotted me in the beauty salon yesterday had spread around their little discovery.

            What was surprising, however, was that no one was referring to the exact establishment at which I had been seen. Surely that would be their first target of attack, as it is clearly frequented by plebs? What else could possibly have been so funny?

            I decided to question Cat about this at lunchtime.

            “Why have people been pointing out my eyebrows?” I asked him, as we sat down to lunch in a local cafe.

            “Have they? Maybe it’s cos they look _flawless_! Like, holy shit, they are perfect!”

            “My beauty technician does indeed do a very good job.”

            “Beauty technician?” he repeated.

            “Yes; her name is Charisse. I see her every week to get my eyebr--”

            “That’s probably it. You get your eyebrows done.”

            “And?” I asked, my heartbeat beginning to race with terror.

            “It’s _you_. You’re masculine as hell-- compared to me at least-- yet you get your eyebrows done. Of _course_ people are gonna point that out.”

            “But this is not a question of masculinity!” I exclaimed. “What sort of unwashed, barbaric man would _not_ get his eyebrows plucked?”

            Cat raised one eyebrow, a slightly bemused expression on his face.

            “Guys don’t tend to get their eyebrows plucked, Plinius,” he said.

            “ _WHAT?_ ” I screeched, causing many of the cafe’s customers to turn around and look at me.

            “How do you not know this? I thought it was pretty com--”

            “Of course. Such a hygienic tradition would never be practiced by plebeian men. I must look like a social pariah to them, hence the mockery! I simply cannot believe this.”

            A waitress came and took our orders, and once she was gone, I returned to my rant.

            “Why must grooming be gendered? Why is the desire for having good eyebrows feminine? Those plebs have no idea what they are talking about.”

            “Yes!” Cat cried, seeming almost surprised that these words were coming from my mouth. “I mean, it’s ridiculous, isn’t it? It’s just, like, pulling some hairs out of your face so that you can look good. There’s nothing feminine about it! And even if it is, even if society calls it feminine, that shouldn’t matter! Guys should be able to go ahead and do it anyway, you know? They don’t deserve to be ridiculed about that. Like, doing something that’s allegedly ‘against your gender’ shouldn’t be such a big deal, and people shouldn’t be shamed for doing it! Men should be allowed to be super feminine, and women should be allowed to be super masculine, and no one should question it.” He paused. “I’m sorry, that was a bit of rant; I just get super heated about these things.”

            I did not have any words in reply to this, since Cat’s position was so different from my own. So… much more progressive, perhaps. I had never questioned things like gender roles and gendered behaviour in my entire life, so thus far I had simply accepted what things were ‘masculine’ and what things were ‘feminine’. Cat was being so… so radical! How had I not considered these things before?

            “I… I… that was a… w-well reasoned a-argument…” was all I could say, since my concentration and mental resources were mostly being taken up by rapid thoughts and ideas.

            “Thanks?” Cat replied, laughing. “But it’s true. If people weren’t gonna take the piss of me, I’d probably be more feminine.”

            I opened my mouth to reply, but then considered-- with my new knowledge-- that it would probably have been rude. My immediate reaction was one of discomfort, at the thought of Cat doing things outside of what is perceived correct for his gender. How terrible of me! How could I think like that, when it is _Cat_ that we are talking about? How could I be uncomfortable at _anything_ to do with him? In fact, considering these revelations, how could I be uncomfortable at the idea of _anyone_ engaging in behaviour perceived ‘incorrect’ for their gender? I felt so dirty and despicable. What barbaric views I held!

            “Well… you… should… do whatever makes you happy,” I eventually said. “I apologize for my lack of eloquence; this has been a lot to take in.”

            “What has?”

            “This whole idea… of things being gendered. I had never considered it before. I had never questioned why certain things were gendered. I feel… as if I hold some extremely backwards views.”

            “I mean, that’s fine, cos you want to change, right? That takes a while.” He paused to give me a warm and sincere smile. “And if you’re ever, like, confused about anything, you can ask me.”

            “Thank you,” I replied, taking hold of his hands from across the table. “I just have quite a lot to think about with regards to my views. I fear that I am actually quite sexist.”

            “It takes ages to unlearn that kind of stuff, but it’s okay, cos you’re on that path now.” O, how wise Cat sounded! He truly had such a vast knowledge of the world. “All guys hold at least _some_ misogynist views, without even realising it. It’s just the society that we live in.”

            “Indeed,” I said absent-mindedly, beginning to chew on the food for thought that Cat had provided. It was proving to be a veritable feast.

            However, it does not mean that I have forgotten about the odious plebs and their ridicule of my eyebrows.

 


	23. 16th October, 2015

16/10/15

 

Over the week, I have been completely lost in thought over what Cat said, and the recent events with regards to my eyebrow routine. Eventually, my mind turned to questions of popularity, and I found myself embarrassed that I am so unpopular. It was a jarring realisation to come to, as in my mind I have always considered myself well-liked. It is a bitter pill to swallow that, in reality, only a handful of people truly like me.

            So, of course, I began to wonder what I could do to increase my popularity, and make my year detest me less. I did not want to debase myself by engaging in plebeian activities, meaning that the only option available to me was a party.

            On Thursday, after I had returned home from a particularly tiring session of the fencing society, I surveyed the villa and considered how suitable it would be for a party. Of course, it was absolutely _perfect_ , what with all the luxurious facilities and numerous leisure rooms. I could hold a party in just _my_ rooms of the villa, and people would have an exceptional time.

            However, my skin crawled at the thought of people ruining the pristine and expensive interior décor of my house. I could not stand the idea of drunken partygoers spilling drinks on my family’s prized Clive Christian furniture. But where else could I host my gathering?

            I could not think of any ideas, so pushed the thought out of my mind whilst I completed my homework. By the time I had finished it, the bell in my study rang to signal that dinner was ready, so I wandered down to the dining room and lay on my usual recliner in readiness for the first course. (Yes, of _course_ we dine in the traditional Roman manner. Who do you think we are, plebs?)

            “I am thinking of going on a small trip on the yacht this weekend,” my uncle announced, after the servants had brought in our first dishes of food. “Do either of you fancy coming?”

            “I would love to!” my mother replied. “Where will we be going?”

            “France, perhaps? I would love to sail over and visit a vineyard that was featured in my wine club’s magazine this month. The sample of their wine which was provided was most exquisite. In fact, let us bring out the remainder of the bottle now. Lucius, please retrieve it from the wine cellar!”

            The butler bowed and trotted away to get the wine.

            “What about you, Plinius? Do you want to come to France this weekend, to the vineyard?”

            “Of course, uncle,” I replied. “Although, I am quite certain that I am too young to drink alcohol in France.”

            “Nonsense! Although one must be eighteen to _purchase_ alcohol, sixteen-year-olds such as yourself may drink moderately without any repercussions from either the law or society. I trust that someone as mature as you would take the vineyard visit very seriously. I hope that I have raised you to be a discerning connoisseur with regards to wine.”

            I laughed politely, agreeing with him.

            “We shall depart on Friday morning, from the harbour. Make sure to be ready to leave the villa at six o’clock sharp, so that we can get on the yacht and sail away before the daily maritime traffic,” my uncle said.

            It was at that moment my mind lit up. The yacht! It would be the perfect place to host a party! It was not quite as big as the villa, and there was far less antique furniture within it to be trashed and ruined by guests. People would have a wonderful time relaxing on the various decks, partaking in many activities, or even swimming in the sea. The yacht also has a number of luxury cabins, which guests could sleep in after the party was over. Truly, I would win boundless popularity if this plan went ahead.

            “Uncle,” I began, “speaking of the yacht… could I perhaps use it next weekend in order to have a party?”

            “Certainly, Plinius!” he replied. “And I shall captain it myself, if you so desire!”

            “With all due respect, I do not think that such a thing would be required.”

            “But of course, it is extremely embarrassing for a guardian or relative to be present at a young man’s party. I shall simply get one of the crew to look after the yacht whilst you and your friends wile away the night with your youthful fun. However, if you need anything, do not hesitate to ask. I can provide anything for the party, from food to entertainment. Would you like me to hire someone for you? A reader of poetry? A lyre-player?”

            “That would be unnecessary,” I replied, with the utmost politeness. “I think that I will entrust Cat with the music for the evening.”

            “I would really like to meet this ‘Cat’ fellow,” my mother interjected. “You have spoken of him so much!”

            “One day, maybe…” My cheeks flushed red, as they always did when I spoke of Cat.

            “Invite him for dinner!” my uncle exclaimed. “I too would love to see him; he sounds like a very fine young man.”

            “H-he… he is…” I stuttered. “We have become… fast friends…”

            “Oh, how sweet!” my mother exclaimed. “He sounds like your very own Euryalus!”

            “ _Mother!_ ” I screeched, breaking out in a cold sweat. “It is nothing like that!”

            “Plinius, get your mind out of the gutter! I did not mean it in that way!”

            “The wine, sir,” Lucius said, presenting the bottle to my uncle.

            “Excellent,” he replied. “I think we all need a little wine. Do pour a glass for everyone.”

            Once my wine was poured, I drained the glass in a very barbaric manner, as if that would wash away my utter embarrassment. The rest of dinner continued, thankfully, with conversation that did not revolve around Cat, Euryalus, or anything similar. As soon as the meal was over, I began to write myself a checklist for all the things which needed to be organised for the yacht party. There is an awful lot to do… I must ask Cat to help me. He can provide… illicit substances, in order to allow the guests to loosen up and have more fun. The worst thing would be to have an awkward party in which nobody talks or dances. I want this to be the best gathering that the sixth form has ever seen!


	24. 18th October, 2015

18/10/15

 

I have just returned from our splendid trip to France. I sincerely apologize to posterity for not writing about the events when they happened-- as I found out to my horror when we were halfway across the Channel, I had left my journal at home. But now that we have returned, finally, I have time to write, so I shall report on the events of the weekend.

            The journey on the yacht to the splendid country of France was mostly spent (by me) inspecting all the cabins and facilities. I found there to be many rooms that I had forgotten about, including an area in which to play a spot of billiards. I thought I remembered that plebs enjoyed games such as this, so considered it to be an excellent discovery.

            As soon as we arrived in France, the yacht was berthed in… well, I was not so sure at first. Embarrassingly, the moment we stepped off the yacht, we found the harbourmaster charging towards us with fire in his eyes and a scowl on his face. He began to scream at us in French.

            “There is a P&O ferry docking there in _ten minutes_! _YOU MUST MOVE!_ ”

            “I apologise dearly, my good sir!” my uncle replied, his French absolutely flawless. “We shall move presently.”

            My mother and I waited for my uncle to get the yacht moved, and, once it was in an appropriate place, we got our servants to bring out our various cases and litters. I had been allowed to take my own litter, rather than relying on the one big enough for the three of us, so that I could go out and about on my own as I wished.

            Sadly, we did not have a villa in the area of the country to which we were heading, so we had to stay in a hotel-- an excellent, prestigious hotel, but nevertheless, it was disappointing. As we made our way to it, sitting in my uncle’s litter, I remarked that he should build a country villa in this area, as it was extremely pleasant and beautiful. He agreed, telling his secretary to take a note of this wonderful idea.

            As soon as we had checked into the hotel, my mother suggested going out for lunch. We were apprehensive about this, as we had not booked a table at any restaurant-- and the only restaurants worth going to are the ones for which you must book. Nevertheless, we travelled to the wealthiest-looking part of the town and searched around for a quality establishment. To our excellent luck, we stumbled across the restaurant attached to the vineyard which had been the purpose of our visit. Of course, the building was not anywhere near the actual vineyard, but was simply partnered with it, and would be the first place to receive their latest wines. Immediately, we went inside and acquired about a possible free table.

            Unfortunately, there was a three-month waiting list for the restaurant, so we were unhelpfully asked whether we wanted to be put onto it. My uncle scoffed at this, beginning to deploy his most persuasive tactics in order to win the maitre d’ over. To our dismay, he simply said that if someone cancelled their booking, he would “give us a call”.

            And what excellent luck the gods bestowed upon us! Just minutes after we left the restaurant, my uncle’s secretary’s mobile phone (which my uncle gave him purely to keep vaguely up-to-date with modern technology) rang, and he answered it to find that one table of three had not turned up for their booking after the allotted hour that the restaurant would wait had passed. Therefore, we were allowed to take the table! Narrowly avoiding hitting my head on the ceiling, I leapt up with glee, feeling free to do this after one of Cat’s reassuring speeches telling me that expressing emotions as a man was perfectly natural and nothing to be ashamed of.

            “Plinius, cease this juvenile behaviour!” my uncle ordered. “It is extremely embarrassing!”

            “I apologise, uncle,” I replied, bowing my head slightly and turning my eyes to the floor of the litter.

            “Are you truly that excited about this restaurant?” my mother asked, smiling in a bemused manner. “Why, you had never even heard of the place before today!”

            Cheeks burning red, I could not find the words to answer her.

            We were soon seated at a wonderful table on the outside patio of the restaurant, which overlooked the valley in which the centre of the town was situated, with its quaint, old, quintessentially French architecture. It was a delightful view, and complemented the traditional, charming French cuisine on the menu nicely.

            In short, the restaurant experience was utterly splendid. We had a light three-course meal, followed by a gorgeous selection of locally-produced cheeses and grapes, all accompanied by the vineyard’s stunning wine. We spent hours there, simply chatting and dining and enjoying the beautiful surroundings. By the time we left, the heat of the day had tempered to a pleasant coolness, and the burning yellow of the sun was fading to a hazy orange.

            We decided to have a look around the town, but my uncle was fatigued, so returned to the hotel to retire. Unfortunately, this left us without a litter, so my mother and I had to walk. To my complete surprise, I found myself very much enjoying this, especially as the streets were not crowded. It struck me at that moment that the only reason I went in my litter was because of my _uncle’s_ propensity for the mode of travel, not my own. During my life, I had simply been socialised to accept that the litter was the only way to get around, and thus far I had never questioned it. But walking through those sunlit, quiet French streets made me wonder why I had never appreciated other transportation. Why, walking was so extremely relaxing!

            Of course, it is another question entirely whether or not I could stomach walking through the pleb-infested buildings of my sixth form.

            The shining moon soon leapt up from its hiding-place beyond the horizon, and my mother reckoned it time to dine once more. My uncle’s secretary had rushed out to tell us that he would be taking his evening meal at the hotel’s restaurant, for he was too tired to come out again, so the decision of where to go was left to the two of us.

We cursed our poor planning skills for not having the foresight to book, but soon found an appropriately high-end establishment and managed to get a table. There was an hour-long wait, to our dismay, meaning that when we were finally seated, both of us were utterly famished. At that point, I was utterly disgusted to find that there was yet another hour-long wait for any and all food. My mother, noticing that my anger was spilling onto my face, gave me a pointed look as if to tell me to contain it.

“That will not be a problem,” I said to the waiter, giving him the most sincere smile that I could manage. I almost cursed out loud when I realised that I had utterly butchered the grammar of the sentence. Ugh! I had once been fluent in French; clearly I was becoming rusty.

In order to speed up what would have been an agonisingly long visit, we decided to keep it simple and order three courses, rather than the five which had been recommended to us by our waiter. After we had told him what we wanted for our entrées and main courses, my mother and I sat back and began to converse-- our first proper conversation in gods know how long. (We had not had any time alone for quite a while, for reasons unknown.)

“So, how have things been, Plinius?” my mother asked, starting the conversation at a sensible point.

“They have been fine,” I replied, sighing as many unpleasant memories of the last few weeks were recalled to my mind.

“Are you sure? You seem stressed; I have noticed it over the past couple of weeks. Your behaviour has… changed, somewhat. Are you alright?” She leaned over the table slightly, her expression softening with compassion.

“I suppose…” I said, suddenly overcome with a need to vent. “This new school year has been… different. Before, everything was so simple, but for some reason, this year has been filled with such extremes-- nothing has been just ‘okay’; it has either been very good or very bad. I feel like Odysseus: some gods seem to hate me and send me misfortune, but others love me and send me blessings. I do not know what I have done to deserve this.”

“O, Plinius, my boy,” she said, giving me a comforting smile, and-- embarrassingly-- reaching across the table to take hold of my hand in a consoling manner. “What has been happening? What bad things? What good things?”

I stopped before I opened my mouth. Was this the right time to admit everything about Cat? I had no idea how my mother and my uncle would react to our relationship, especially as I had expressed no desire for _anyone_ in my life thus far. The two of them had come to accept that perhaps, relationships were not something in which I was interested-- in fact, they had come to love it: after all, who would _not_ choose to be spared the tempest of the passionate and ever-changing emotions of a youth? They had explicitly expressed to me how thankful they were that I was not ruled by my heart (or my genitals), and that they did not have to deal with any possible partners or heartbreak. Would they be disappointed that this had changed?

 _No_ , I thought, _it will be okay. You are simply exaggerating things._ And indeed I was-- would it really matter? Would they express hostility at such an insignificant thing? No, they would not. I was simply panicking in that moment, and was letting the worst possible scenario invade my mind and take root. My anxious mind was just rationalising the irrational. It would be fine.

But then I thought, what if they disliked that Cat was not a girl? What if they wanted me to love women, and get married, and have children, and continue the Plinius family line? Surely that meant that they would try to dissuade me from continuing to see Cat, so that I could focus my attentions on women?

The sensible part of my mind shot back at this ridiculous notion, reminding me of the ways of my noble Roman ancestors. Young men were perfectly at liberty to be with those of their own gender, as long as they were the dominant partner. I blushed to think of such obscene things in relation to Cat, but it was necessary. If things progressed to such a point, I thought that without a doubt I would take the active role.

Feeling too dirty and disgusting to continue this train of thought, I finally provided my mother with an answer to her questions. I decided it easier to start with the bad things that had been happening.

“Well, it seems that a number of unpleasant people have joined the sixth form and decided that they would benefit from my friendship,” I began. “One such person is a young man called Regulus--”

“Regulus!” my mother exclaimed. At that moment I remembered the Caecilius Memorial Dinner, and the shocking revelation that Regulus’ father owned Caecilius Associates. “Does he have any relation to--”

“Yes,” I replied, my expression hardening as I became irritated at the mere _thought_ of Regulus.

“My goodness! How did I not know that he attended your sixth form?”

“I never told you, I suppose. I never really had any reason to-- he is an extremely odious individual.”

“Oh? How come?” she asked.

“There is something about his personality that is overbearingly obnoxious and loathsome. He is exactly the sort of person whom I wish to avoid, yet he seems to think that we are somehow acquaintances, even _friends_. Where he got that idea, I do not know. He has been bothering me for weeks now! I think that the torture is finally abating, but I can never be totally free, for he is in my Law class and sits next to me.”

“This is quite surprising! I always assumed that any descendant of Regulus Sr’s would be an upstanding and admirable person. It seems not.”

“Indeed.”

At that moment, our delicious entrées arrived, and we briefly paused our conversation to taste them. Once we were satisfied at their delightful flavour, we carried on:

“Is that all that has been bothering you?” my mother asked.

“Sadly not. I have been… I have been in trouble. For my behaviour.”

“ _What?_ ”

“It is not what it seems! I have done nothing wrong, but my teachers are convinced that I am somehow troublesome. I was forcibly placed on a behavioural contract, which I must go in to discuss on--”

I stopped cold. My meeting about the contract was meant to have been on Friday! I had missed it!

“O, mother, I have done a terrible thing,” I sighed. “I was meant to discuss the contract yesterday.”

“Plinius!” she cried, looking genuinely frustrated. “Perhaps this is why your teachers consider you badly behaved!”

“I know, I know… Do you see now why I have been stressed?”

I took the final bite of my entrée, frowning as negative emotions washed over me.

“But you said that good things have been happening to you, darling,” my mother said, in a reassuring tone of voice. “Why don’t we focus on those?”

This was it! I had to now come clean about Cat! My heart began to pound.

“Well… mother… this is quite difficult for me to say, but…” I paused, steadying my breathing and trying to find the right words. “There is… there is someone.”

What poor phrasing!

“Someone?” my mother repeated.

“Yes… Let me, let me make that clearer. Someone… someone, in a romantic sense.”

Ugh! My eloquence truly was disappearing with every passing day.

“You mean that you are _in love_ with someone?”

“No! Definitely not! I absolutely do not mean such a thing!” I shrieked, catching the attention of some diners at adjacent tables. “I simply… I simply mean that there is someone in whom I am quite interested.”

“And who might that be? Are they of Roman descent?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Excellent. Is the family well-known? Noble? Might I have heard of them?”

“I do not think so,” I said. “I think that they are probably an equestrian family, perhaps even a plebeian one. I do hope not, for that would be extremely unfortunate.”

“So tell me; what is this person’s name?” she prompted.

“Umm… actually… I have already told you of them…”

“ _Di immortales!_ It isn’t _Regulus_ , is it?”

“Absolutely not!” I screeched, feeling bile rise in my throat at such a disturbing thought. However, I was relieved that she considered the idea of me loving a man at least _possible_.

“Who is it, then?”

She paused. For a worryingly long time. I could not bring myself to say his name.

But, then:

“It’s that Cat fellow, isn’t it?!”

I could not think of anything to say, as all words had been snatched from my tongue by some malevolent power. My entire face burned as my cheeks reddened, and I could only turn my head away in utter embarrassment.

“Oh, it _is_! How adorable! I have been waiting for the day when you’d first fall in love!”

“I am not in love with Cat, mother!” I snapped, in a state of complete mortification. “We simply have a close friendship!”

She simply gave me a wide smile, her eyes sparkling.

“Ah, I remember when your uncle had his first lover,” she said, leaning back in her chair triumphantly. “I taunted him ceaselessly! The poor boy was so in love… He wouldn’t let him out of his sight as far as he could help it! The two of them were such a wonderful pair.”

I saw this as a perfect opportunity to leave the discussion about Cat, so I steered her onto the topic of my uncle’s youth. Since she had drunk quite a few glasses of wine, her tongue was rather loose, and she told me many fascinating stories about his younger days. He had been quite a promiscuous individual, allegedly sneaking many girls and boys home behind his parents’ backs whilst he was still in school. I almost could not believe that such a virtuous and noble man had been so licentious in his past. When we got back to the hotel, I could not look at him in quite the same way.

The next day soon rolled around, and we all made the journey to the vineyard which my uncle had been raving about. Our presence was welcomed by the owner and master vintner, a well-dressed, portly man of about sixty. Using his classic charming and persuasive language, my uncle secured us a tour of the entire place, as well as a wine-tasting session, as the latest cases of wine were just about to come out of the cellars. The vintner joked that I should spend some time with his niece rather than tasting the wine, as she was staying with him and would probably enjoy the company of someone similar in age. I politely laughed along with him, having no intention to entertain this idea.

In all honesty, I found the day at the vineyard quite dull. Wine was not a particular interest of mine, much less finding out where it is made, so I simply accompanied my uncle and did not express my boredom outwardly. My mother did not seem too thrilled with the visit either, so we spent our time conversing-- rather, she spent her time questioning me about Cat. It was liberating to talk about my feelings for him to someone so understanding, but I could not help being embarrassed to open up after so long with those feelings contained within my mind. She seemed extremely excited by the prospect of me finding love, and encouraged me to invite him to the villa for dinner. As much as I wanted to do this, I did not want my family prying into my relationship, and putting all sorts of undoubtedly cringeworthy questions to Cat over the meal.

We spent the better part of the day at the vineyard, and the sun was beginning to sink into Ocean’s Stream when we were done. This signalled that it was time to make for the yacht and sail home. Unfortunately, the journey to the harbour where we were docked was a long one, so we got there after it had grown dark. Nevertheless, we put out to sea, and set out for home.

On the way back, I reflected on all that I had told my mother over the weekend. At some point, I fell asleep, as the next thing I knew, we were back, and Jonty was shaking my shoulder gently to tell me that it was time to get off the yacht. In the litter on the final leg of our journey, back to the villa, I began to write the entry which you are reading now.

It has been an… interesting weekend.


	25. 19th October, 2015

19/10/15

 

The first thing on my mind when I entered school this morning was my contract. I suspected that the moment I set foot in the classroom, Professor Hunton-Blather would leap out of the shadows and drag me to her office, but it was not so. For the entire morning, I was being eaten up with nerves, wondering when I would finally be summoned to the office to be utterly destroyed.

In order to occupy my anxious mind, I decided to spread word of my impending yacht party to my peers. I thought it a sensible idea to invite everyone, as that would make the party the ‘place to be’, as the saying goes, and would thus increase my popularity. I first approached the people by whom I was seated in all of my lessons, and told them to let all of their friends know that it was an open invitation. With the seeds planted in a few members of the year group, I simply had to sit back and wait for the tree to grow.

Then, at lunchtime, Professor Hunton-Blather found me. Her expression was one of contained, suppressed fury, and her voice trembled as she requested that I come with her to her office. I immediately knew that I was in deep, deep trouble.

“This is the  _ second time! _ ” she shrieked, as soon as the door had closed and I had sat down. “Do you  _ really _ give so little of a damn about our school rules that you would do this  _ again _ ?”

“Professor, I honestly forgot about the meeting–” I attempted, before I was swiftly cut off.

“As you did last time! That is no excuse! You just… ugh, you exasperate me.”

She sat down and put her head in her hands.

“I am done with you,” she finally said. “If you have the contract here with you, let me sign it off and we will be done with it. I cannot be bothered to deal with this anymore.”

I was taken aback at these words, but rapidly produced the contract, which had been signed by all my teachers for all of last week’s lessons.

“Thank God…” she said under her breath. “There. It is signed. Now, if I hear of your behaviour one more time, I will suspend you without hesitation. I am not going through this again, since you clearly do not take it seriously. Act up again, and you will not be allowed to enter school for at least a week. Goodbye, Plinius. I hope not to see you again.”

Without a word, I scurried from the office, shaken to my core. 

I bumped into Cat on my way back to my form room, the designated rendezvous when we wanted to meet and eat lunch together. I greeted him warmly, he asked where I had just been and  I explained the whole situation, to which he started laughing (covering his mouth with his hand, as he always did, to my great distress). 

“How the hell are you getting into so much trouble? You are literally the definition of an ideal student!”

“I have no idea,” I replied. “This school has clearly got their behavioural policies completely wrong. They cannot recognise good behaviour when they see it.”

“Don’t worry about it; you’re definitely not  _ remotely _ as bad as some people in this year…” He paused for a moment. “Actually, you know what, maybe you are. I heard you’re planning a party, you cheeky fucker!” The teasing tone in the last three words was extremely obvious.

“That is true. I am going to have an extremely enjoyable and fun party, to which everyone in Year 12 is invited. Do you think that this will make our fellow students dislike me less?”

Cat’s face fell in a sympathetic expression. “Is that why you want to have a party? To make people hate you less?”

“Yes. I fear that I am loathed by almost everyone in our year.”

“Shit, man… I don’t even know what to say to that, honestly, cos it’s like… sad, you know? Do you actually  _ want _ to have this party?”

“Not particularly– well, I would not particularly like to invite plebs, but I must win their support. As you know, many Roman emp–”

“Plinius, if you don’t wanna do it, then don’t do it!” By now we were in the safety of my litter, and Cat had taken my hand in a comforting gesture. “Seriously, don’t feel like you need to do anything to be popular. Popularity means fuck all, to be honest. I just… I dunno; I don’t want you to be pressured into doing anything you don’t want to.”

“Worry not, Cat; I am quite sure that I will enjoy this party, as long as you and Tacitus attend. It will be held on my yacht, meaning that I need not worry about plebs ransacking my expensive, vintage furniture. I appreciate your concern, but I am certain that I need to do this.”

Cat sighed, still seemingly worried that I was giving into peer pressure and doing things that I did not want to do. It absolutely warmed my heart to see him looking out for me, and momentarily made me marvel at the fact that  _ someone  _ in the school did not find my presence irritating. 

“Okay then,” he said, the change in his tone of voice signalling that the conversation was taking a different turn, “if you’re sure you want a party, you’ve gotta make it good. What have you got planned?”

“Not too much, in all honesty,” I replied. “I was planning to utilise the extensive facilities on my yacht, as I feel that they are enough to provide ample opportunities for fun and merriment. However, I am aware that such things as alcohol need to be present, and I am quite… unwilling, let us say, to crack open the excellent vintages in my uncle’s cellar. I would need to buy cheaper beverages, but my uncle would surely think me a disgusting barbarian if I asked him to buy something like Smirnoff or Bacardi for me.”

“Well, people will probably bring stuff, so that’s alright, but you should probably get a hold of at least some beers… I would do that for you, but look at me: I look, like, twelve!”

“Nonsense!” I exclaimed, feeling a witty remark coming on. “Thirteen, at least!”

Cat’s sudden and incredulous laugh suggested that he did not expect such top-class humour to be coming from me.

We were deposited at our usual cafe, and sat down at our usual table. To my surprise, I found the Secundi Filii sitting nearby, talking rowdily and sharing delicate pastries. Tacitus caught my eye and slightly inclined his head in greeting, but did not come up to the table to talk, or even say hello. Hadrian and Clarus looked at me, but did nothing else, and Vergil and Antinous gave us a quick wave. Suetonius, strangely, leapt from his seat and strode over to us.

“Plinius! Long time no see, my friend! O, I  _ have _ missed you,” he cried, genuine happiness in his voice. “I’ve heard that you’re having a bit of a party on your yacht! I do hope us Secundi Filii are invited!”

“Of course you are!” I replied, feigning enthusiasm, although I was mildly hurt by the implication that I was not part of the Secundi Filii. “In fact, the entire year is invited. I predict that it will be splendid.”

“I can’t wait! I’ll be telling the boys to bring various… how shall we say… intoxicants? Tacitus certainly has contacts– as you well know, Cat.”

“Oh, yeah,” Cat replied, somewhat absentmindedly. “You were telling me about that in Chemistry, weren’t you?”

“Indeed. Well, anyway, my friends, I should be off; I would hate to leave my pastries unattended within the greedy reach of a certain C. Septicius Clarus. See you later!”

We bade him farewell, finding it somewhat odd that he had decided to approach us.

“Well, there we go,” Cat said. “Sorted! I guess they’ll be bringing some, like, fifty-year-old port or some shit?”

“That would be superb!” I exclaimed, without taking the usual time I did to think about the tone or phrasing of the words that I was about to say.

Cat laughed in a rather bemused manner. He then turned his attentions to an important topic:

“So, if all of Year 12 is invited, does that mean that Regulus and his lot are invited too?”

I grimaced at the thought.

“It would undoubtedly have caused a stir if I publicly announced that Regulus and his little gang were not invited, when everyone else in the year is. However, I have instructed the yacht staff that if he does arrive, they must turn him away and come up with some plausible excuse. I have given them a description of his appearance, to ensure that he does not slip in unnoticed.”

Cat stifled a laugh behind his hand.

“You really hate the guy, don’t you?”

“I have never loathed a man more.”


	26. 25th October, 2015

25/10/15

 

By all the gods who hold wide heaven!

            I simply have no words to sum up what happened last night. Unlike at Tacitus’ party, I remember the events quite clearly, so I will relate them to you, in order that posterity may wonder and marvel at this remarkable evening.

            For the entire day, I prepared the yacht for my guests. All breakable objects were hidden; all extremely valuable items were moved; all surfaces were polished and all staff were briefed. I had managed to slyly ask Jonty to buy me plebeian alcohol, so I was in possession of at least a dozen one-litre and 750ml bottles of various spirits and liquors. Around half of these were placed in the main inside lounge area of the yacht, the rest in the corresponding outside lounge– for the weather looked to be quite fine, and would continue like this throughout the night.

            I had decided not to take the yacht for any sort of journey on the sea, for I was afraid that drunken revellers may fall into the water accidentally, and it would be an inconceivable tragedy if their struggling bodies were left behind to perish. Instead, I myself would navigate the yacht a safe distance away from the harbour, to a calm and quiet stretch of sea, then anchor and let the night commence.

            As the hours fell away irritatingly slowly, my mind began to turn to worrying thoughts. What if the harbour was too far away, and people did not bother to come? What if no one cared for my party, and decided not to turn up? What if a sudden storm swept the yacht out onto the wine-dark sea? What if someone lost their life to drowning, after falling off the side of the yacht? What if the yacht sank, killing every single guest? _What if Regulus turned up?_

            Anxiety gnawed at my stomach, and I felt it deeply. It would not do any harm to open one of the bottles of vodka, so that I could have a small sip to calm my nerves?

            Unfortunately, this small sip turned into a quarter of the bottle, and I began to feel buzzed quite quickly. Spirits lifted, I ambled down to the main entrance of the yacht, where a couple of crew members were unrolling a red carpet, the bright colour of which signalling to the guests where the party was. I stood there for some time, excitedly waiting for the first person to arrive.

            To my complete elation, the first group of revellers arrived, seemingly already intoxicated. I welcomed them in warmly, electing to give them a quick tour of the yacht to let them get their bearings. They all appeared to be impressed by the scale and grandeur of the vessel, and particularly by the smartly-dressed butlers whom I had asked to help me for the evening. The group soon settled into the outside lounge, just at the point when the next guests walked up the red carpet.

            These plebs were carrying illegal drugs, which they deposited onto a table as soon as they had sat down in the lounge. There were a number of small bags of marijuana, and a selection of differently-coloured circular pills. I enquired as to what the pills were, to which they handed me one and suggested that I try it.

            “I… I am not so sure that I want to take an unknown substance,” I said, my hands becoming sweaty as the pill was pressed into my palm.

            “Fair enough,” one of the guests replied. “But keep it anyway, in case you wanna take it later. Trust me, it’s good shit. Makes parties fun as hell.”

            I looked down at it, frowning deeply. It was white, and around the same dimensions as a 500mg paracetamol tablet. It had an unusual design stamped into it; what it was exactly I was unsure of. The sweat of my palm began to dissolve the pill, so, without thinking, I threw the thing into my mouth and chased it down with a glug of vodka.

            _What in the name of the gods did I just do?_ I thought frantically, as the people with the pills invited me to sit down, now that I had become one of them. My breathing began to quicken, so worried I was at the thought of what effects I might experience from this mystery narcotic.

            I sank down onto one of the luxuriously upholstered seats of the outside lounge, staring off into the distance, quite oblivious to my surroundings. Raw, distilled terror coursed through me. Had I just made the most catastrophic mistake of my life?

            “How you feeling, Plebby?” asked a young woman of East Asian appearance.

            “Surprisingly… surprisingly okay…” I replied, my body shaking like a leaf. I was so preoccupied by what this pill would do to me that I did not even scold her for calling me that odious nickname.

            At that moment, it seemed as if the high hit me all at once. It was an indescribable feeling, sending me to the soaring heights of euphoria and banishing all cares from my mind. My surroundings almost changed in appearance, as if I were now looking through some sort of distorted, misted, slightly coloured glass. I was not entirely sure if the vodka which I had consumed was in any way responsible, but at that moment I did not care. For me, it was time to party.

            Rushing around the yacht, I greeted every person I passed, dashing to the red carpet and waiting there, hopping on my toes. I simply could not wait for the Secundi Filii to arrive! And Cat! O, what a glorious moment it would be when Cat strode down that carpet!

            To my dismay, the next people to turn up were not those for whom I was longing so ardently. I gave a very audible groan, reluctantly letting them embark, and telling them that many drugs and different types of alcohol were available on board. As soon as they had passed me, I noticed Cat amongst a small group of people wandering towards the yacht. I hurtled down the carpet to greet them, spreading my arms out wide as if to embrace him.

            “Hello! I am so glad you could make it! Please, come in! O, Cat, it is an immense pleasure to see you this evening!”

            I grabbed his hand and shook it violently. From this action he knew that I was rather under the influence.

            “I guess the shit they managed to get won’t be needed?” he joked, as one of the people in the group began to roll a joint. (After partaking in a number of different narcotic-based activities, I am now aware of some of the language used.)

            “Of course it will be needed!” I cried, almost insensible with glee. “The more the merrier! Please, come to the top deck, where my lounge is. You can smoke all you want up there!”

            I led the group to the lounge, where the vast majority of the partygoers were located. They sat in one of the only uninhabited circles of seats, taking out all their paraphernalia and preparing their various pieces of smoking equipment. A couple of boys in the group helped themselves to a bottle of disgusting light rum, as they lit several joints and began to pass them around. Soon, one of them was handed to me. I did not entirely remember how to go about smoking it, so I looked sneakily at Cat– who was taking a long drag from a joint– and copied his actions.

            Immediately, I began to cough uncontrollably. Everybody laughed heartily, the girl sitting next to me leaning over and slapping me on the back in a comradely manner.

            “This is absolutely acrid!” I thundered, a little too loudly. I threw the smoking joint at the girl, as if repulsed by its very proximity to me.

            Another joint was placed into my hand by Cat, and I passed it along without taking a puff. The idea of tasting that foul substance again disgusted me.

            The group of people who had given me that mystery pill appeared again, offering us some more for only a small price. Without thinking for even a moment, I leapt to my feet and purchased a dozen, to give them to my new friends. When I sat back down, they all looked at me like I had just sprouted wings.

            “Plinius? What the fuck?” Cat spluttered. “You’re gonna take E?”

            “Why, is it _bad_ or something?” I asked, in a jokingly sarcastic manner.

            “Well, _I_ don’t personally do it, but… fuck me, man, I’m just surprised!”

            “I am _cool_ , Cat,” I replied, wiggling my eyebrows cheekily.

            “You’ve already taken some, haven’t you?”

            I grinned naughtily, my mouth forming what could only be described as an Archaic smile. Without further ado, I threw back another pill (O, the shame I feel in recounting this!) with a sip of rum.

            After the effects of the narcotic had kicked in, I forgot about my earlier dislike of marijuana, and decided to partake in it once more. I was soon extremely high, and acting in a way that was incredibly out of character for me. Cat seemed almost embarrassed to be around me, and physically cringed every time I so much as opened my mouth. At the time, I was offended by this, but now I am certain that I definitely _was_ embarrassing to be around. Some of the things that I remember doing… Ugh. I cannot even recall them without wanting to curl up and hide from civilised society for the rest of my life.

            Some time later, after a few more hits of marijuana, I got what I believe is known as the ‘munchies’. My search for food led me to the entrance of the yacht, just in time to see the Secundi Filii approaching. I was quite simply overjoyed at this, and literally grabbed Tacitus to lead him into the party. He had brought with him some champagne and bags of white powder (exactly what it was I still do not know, especially as I did not try any of it). Once they had made themselves comfortable, I beckoned Cat over and bade him sit down amongst them.

            My heart leapt with joy as I took my seat with the Secundi Filii. Perhaps this would be the night that I could convince Hadrian to let me get a blazer?

            Alas, Venus had other ideas. As the night’s music turned to more sultry, slow songs, Hadrian began to eye up Antinous in a very suggestive way, and talked with him in quiet tones that no one else could hear. Antinous seemed receptive to his advances, as if they had been doing similar things outside of this party.

            Eventually, the two of them stood up and left the circle, just at the moment when Tacitus began arranging lines of white powder on the glass table in the middle of our circle of chairs. I looked with curiosity at the two young men as they disappeared to a shadowed area of the deck, but then I began to think of food again.

            “Cat, I need food,” I stated.

            “You are high as fuck,” he noted.

            “Perhaps I am, but that does not negate my deep desire for sustenance. I think it is time to–”

            “I hate to interrupt, lads, but who wants a line?” Tacitus exclaimed, brandishing a rolled-up twenty pound note in our faces as he wiped some white powder from his nose.

            “No thank you,” I replied simply.

            “I’m alright, thanks,” Cat said.

            “But Catullus!” Tacitus screeched suddenly. “I thought that _you_ of all people would be up for a little hit! I’ve heard many stories about your wild party antics…”

            “That was in, like, Year 10–” He pushed away the rolled-up note, which the intoxicated Tacitus was now shoving into his face– “I was a _mess_ in Year 10. I don’t do that shit any more.”

            “Thank the gods, my friend. I really was worried. Regulus told me that once…” He leaned over and whispered some words into Cat’s ear. Cat rounded on him with the most incredulous of expressions.

            “ _How did you EVER hear about that?_ ” he cried.

            “Regulus knows all, my friend,” Tacitus chuckled.

            I now slipped into their conversation.

            “Something just occurred to me. Where is Clarus?”

            “Oh, he didn’t want to come tonight,” Tacitus replied nonchalantly.

            My entire body caught fire with rage.

            “ _WHAT?_ How _DARE_ he not attend my party?” I yelled. “Where is the slimy rat, then?”

            “I have no idea,” said Tacitus. “He just said that he didn’t want to come, and that he had other things to do.”

            What an insult this was! What possessed that wretched man to shun my party? How dare he? _How dare he?_

            “I am disgusted by this. Cat, come with me; I am going to get some food and eat away the pain of this affront to my hosting skills.”

            I took Cat’s hand and pulled him out of the chair. He followed me– well, I dragged him– inside the yacht, but unfortunately got lost on the way and ended up in the bedrooms. For some completely unknown reason, I walked into one of them, finding myself a witness of an utterly unprecedented scene.

            Hadrian was pressed up against the wall, his head thrown back in pleasure, his trousers and underwear around his ankles. Antinous was on his knees in front of him, doing something so obscene that I simply cannot bring myself to write it.

            I screamed the yacht down, covering my eyes and trying unsuccessfully to open the door and escape this filth. My noise notified the two to my presence, Antinous hurriedly removing himself (you know exactly from where) and Hadrian throwing his hands in front of his body to conceal his modesty.

            “What the _fuck_?” Hadrian bellowed. “ _Get the fuck out, NOW!_ ”

            I did not reply, deciding instead to scarper. Once outside the bedroom, Cat asked me what I had just witnessed. I could not muster the courage to tell him.

            “Were they fucking?”

            I took a sharp intake of breath. Such crude language!

            “We must not speak of this again,” I said simply. “I must get another drink, to forget about this.”

            We returned to the outside lounge, having to pass the swimming pool in order to get to where the majority of the drinks were located. As I looked down at the clear, chlorinated water, a lightbulb flashed in my mind. I was meant to sail the yacht out of the harbour!

            “Cat, stay there. There is something I need to do.”

            Soon, I was in front of the unfamiliar controls of this large vessel. I knew how to sail smaller boats, but had never attempted to navigate this one. Even whilst sober, it seemed difficult, but whilst intoxicated? A Herculean task!

            I pressed some random buttons, miraculously managing to turn on the engine. I thankfully remembered that I needed to communicate with those managing the harbour, in case a large craft was coming in or out. I spoke into the radio, asking if it was possible to leave. No reply came– probably because it was late, and no one was on duty. With this thought in mind, I began to guide the yacht away.

            As you can imagine, since I was utterly out of it, my navigation skills were not to their usual standard. I rammed into the side of another yacht at anchor; I clipped the side of a small cabin cruiser as I left our berth; I forgot to stow the anchor, meaning that the vessel suddenly lurched to a halt just as I was getting the hang of things.

            “Neptune, be kind to me,” I muttered.

            Once the anchor was up, I went flat-out, trying to get the yacht to go as fast as it was able. I began to shout excitedly, whooping and hollering in a plebeian manner. All too late I noticed the berthed boats directly in front of me.

            With an almighty crash, the yacht connected with a large and sturdy vessel. My craft was somewhat smaller, causing the bow to crumple on impact. I let out a pitiful yelp, all the colour draining from my face, my mouth dropping open in horror. I bolted from the room.

            “Everything’s okay, don’t worry, everything’s okay!” I shrieked, running around the yacht like a maenad overcome by Bacchic ecstasy.

            But things were not okay.

            Very soon, the bow of the yacht began to pitch forwards, gently dipping further into the water. Being more nautically-inclined than my fellow partygoers, I noticed the small change instantly, and my heart began to pound. In my intoxicated state, I believed that it was all over now, and that we were going to die.

            “Quick!” I screeched. “Everyone! Abandon ship! _Abandon ship!_ ”

            “What the hell are you shouting about, Pliny?” a random reveller asked. “Are we _sinking_?”

            “ _YES!_ ” I bellowed. “ _Get away while you still can!_ ”

            By now, the yacht was at an alarming angle, sinking steadily into the sea. Water was undoubtedly filling up the lower decks, dragging the craft ever further down into Neptune’s depths. I lifted my eyes and palms to the sky and began to pray to the god, begging him to spare our lives, and the yacht if possible.

            My prayer was cut short by me slipping over and sliding down the deck, since– like in cliché sinking-ship film scenes– the yacht was at such an extreme angle I could not stand up. Everyone else fell over with me, then immediately began to struggle up the deck to where the emergency lifeboat was located. I followed suit, lowering the lifeboat so that everyone could pile in. It was a tight squeeze, but I made sure that the women got in first, as per maritime law. (I also managed to get Cat in with them, as I was so petrified for his life.)

            Somehow, all the partygoers were able to get into the small lifeboat. I leapt in last, lowering the boat into the water, then taking my place by the rudder. We sailed back to the yacht’s berth, watching the mighty craft get overcome by the swirling waves of the sea. As if to add insult to injury, the water was not deep enough for the yacht to be completely submerged, so about a third of it stuck out, the bow jammed into the rocky seabed and preventing further movement.

            “Well… shit,” I stated. “That was bad.”

            The high was wearing off by now, and I was coming to my senses somewhat. The true gravity of the situation was beginning to creep into my clouded mind.

            “What do we do now?” a boy asked me.

            “I have no idea,” I replied, still intoxicated, but returning to my usual worried self. “I think… I think I shall just leave it there for now. W-we are berthed now. Get… get out and… well…”

            I shrugged.

            The guests disembarked, me last. Someone asked if we could go to my house and continue the party there, but I did not allow this. I truly did not want plebs invading my sacred space.

            “Please, feel free to disperse to your homes, or to other locations in town. I am very sorry that this calamity has occurred.”

            Since most of the partygoers were drunk or high off some substance, they did not react to this how I had expected. Many of them simply shrugged; some of them laughed, finding the whole situation funny; only a small minority were angry at their night’s being ruined. Everybody parted from each other in small groups, many likely heading off to another party being held at the same time. The Secundi Filii ambled over to me, and I blushed when I caught Hadrian’s eye.

            “Can we just have a quick word, Plinius?” Hadrian asked, beckoning me to him.

            Once we were in a secluded place, he began to speak:

            “Look, that was really awkward,” said Hadrian. “You were not meant to have seen that. I cannot imagine your disgust that an upstanding gentleman such as I would be engaging in such… such… homosexual behaviour.”

            “You seem to be under the impression that homosexual behaviour would tarnish your status as an upstanding gentleman,” I replied, impressed by my wise words. “But in fact, this is not true. After all, it was the custom of our ancestors to–”

            “Yes. I know. But I am just… embarrassed. You should not know of the activities in which Antinous and I engage. You must swear not to tell anyone else what you have seen.”

            “I will not breathe a word,” I replied.

            The young man gave me a nod of gratitude, then turned and left me alone.

            “Gaius Plinius Luci filius Caecilius Secundus...” a familiar, musical voice exclaimed from behind me.

            “Cat… haha… good evening…” I managed to say, feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

            “What the fuck did you just do?!” he laughed, for once not covering his mouth with his hand (to my complete joy).

            “I simply do not know.”

            “Well, I recommend you never drink or smoke weed again. Please. For all our sakes.”

            He burst out laughing, head in hands, completely incredulous at what he had experienced that night. He had nothing more to say.

            “Where will you be going now?” I asked, after he had finished laughing.

            “Um… home, I guess? I’m, like, not _that_ high anymore, so my parents won’t be, like, suspicious or anything. What about you?”

            “I shall return to the Villa Plinia and sleep immediately, avoiding my uncle, who will undoubtedly ask about the condition of the yacht. O, what could I tell him?”

            “Maybe think about that tomorrow?”

            “I will. Goodnight, Cat, and thank you for coming.”

            I gave him a warm and genuine embrace, which may have lasted slightly longer than what is socially acceptable. Then we parted ways, and I spent the litter journey home thinking desperately about how to explain the situation to my uncle.

 

~

 

Over lunch today, I decided to break the bad news to my uncle about the state of the yacht. Surprisingly, things went rather well.

            We all arrived in the dining room, reclining on our usual seats in readiness for the first course. After the dishes had been placed on the tables in front of us, I steadied my breathing and prepared myself for a scolding.

            “Uncle…” I began, hand shaking slightly as I reached to take an olive.

            “Plinius! How did your party go last night? Did you have fun with the yacht? What sort of scrapes did you get up to?” he asked in a jovial tone of voice.

            “Well… speaking of that… I am afraid that I had to contend with unforeseen circumstances.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Unfortunately, I appear… Um, I seem… It just so happened that… O, uncle, it is so terrible! I sunk the yacht!”

            There was silence, as I braced myself for the aggressive telling-off that was imminent. I noticed my mother giving me an extremely disapproving look.

            “Oh. That _is_ quite unfortunate,” was all my uncle eventually said.

            “I am so incredibly sorry for this awful behaviour! I would understand if you cast me from the house immediately and denounced me as a family member! I burn with shame and embarrassment even thinking about what a crime I have committed. And, what is worse, I did not even do anything to aid in the removal of the wreckage from the harbour… I am ashamed of myself. So utterly ashamed. I cannot believe that I would sink so low as to do this despicable thing. And with such an expensive vessel… Please, if you can find the ability in your heart, please forg–”

            “Plinius, do not worry!” my uncle replied, with a mildly amused laugh. “These things happen sometimes, especially to those in the clutches of wayward youth. Why, when she was your age, your mother managed to cause a car crash through the reckless use of her litter in the roads! You really need not be so disgusted at your actions; they do not bother me nearly as much as they bother you. Do try to relax.”

            “I agree,” my mother interjected. “You do tend to get caught up in your anxiety. In this case, there is nothing to worry about.”

            “But I sunk the yacht! How could you _not_ worry?”

            “It was getting old, anyway,” my uncle remarked. “I actually was planning on buying a new one! In fact, I have a yacht magazine in my study. Lucius, please go and get it!”

            We spent the rest of the meal discussing yachts, when I suddenly hit upon a magnificent idea. Clarus had missed my party, which had very much angered me, so I wanted him to pay in some manner. Would it not be absolutely genius for me to ask him to buy us a new yacht? His family’s money is certainly enough to cover the cost of a _fleet_ of yachts, so he would not miss a couple of hundred thousand pounds, _and_ my family would get a new yacht out of it! It really would show him how harsh I can be when people decide to commit such heinous _faux pas_.

            Even now, I get a thrill of satisfaction when I think of Clarus’ face when I demand that he buy us a yacht. It will be glorious.

 


	27. 26th October, 2015

26/10/15

 

Ugh! The plan did not go as well as I had hoped.

            On Monday morning, at the beginning of break-time, I approached Clarus. In my hand I was holding my uncle’s yacht magazine, with a large black circle around the yacht which my family had deemed the best. I politely called his name, turning his attention away from the Secundi Filii, who were clustered around their usual bench on the school grounds.

            “Plinius!” Tacitus bellowed, just as I was opening my mouth to reprimand Clarus. “What an excellent party! The entire night was a riot!”

            “Thank you,” I replied, caught off-guard by his kind words. “I do apologize for the yacht inci–”

            “Oh, that was nothing!” he chuckled. “I’ve not had that much fun at a party in years! You truly have top-notch hosting skills.”

            I could only smile at this glowing review. It almost made my irritation at Clarus dissipate, but I focused my mind on the plan and moved in.

            “Clarus,” I said once more.

            “What?” he asked, his thin lips forming a haughty sneer.

            “You know exactly what. How dare you spurn my party invitation? And with such rudeness? I am disgusted.”

            “I didn’t want to come, Plinius. Is that such a crime?”

            “Perhaps it is not a _crime_ , but it is certainly disrespectful! Don’t you feel embarrassed that the rest of the Secundi Filii came, and you did not?”

            “No. Quite frankly, I feel not a shred of remorse. Why are you getting so heated about such a trivial matter?”

            “Be quiet, you pile of excrement. As punishment for this reprehensible behaviour, you must purchase me this.”

            I thrust the yacht magazine into his face, open on the page displaying the yacht that we wanted. He made a repulsive noise in surprise, leaning back instinctively. I let go of the magazine so that it dropped into his lap, leaving him no choice but to look at it.

            He flicked through the pages for some moments, eventually returning to the one that I had originally shown him. His brows, previously furrowed in concern, shot up almost to his hairline, and a half-confused, half-amused smirk crossed his face.

            “You want me to buy you a yacht?!” he exclaimed, letting out a laugh.

            “Yes,” I replied, giving him a stony glare. “It is the least that you can do for offending me. You see, my yacht was sunk at the party, which made me very upset. It makes perfect sense for you to compensate me as revenge for what you have done.”

            “This is ridiculous!” he chuckled. “How about I buy you a toy yacht? Maybe a rubber one, to float in the bath and play with? It would perfectly suit your childish behaviour.”

            Boiling hot anger rose up within me. I could feel it physically invading every inch, every cell of my body. My vision almost literally became clouded with red.

            “How _dare_ you speak to me in this manner? You are as disgusting and rude as Regulus!”

            Clarus gave me a slimy, sickly smile.

            “Well, that’s quite funny, considering that I _was_ with him on the night of your party.”

            Something within me snapped, and I charged forward with my fists clenched. At the last moment, just as I was raising one arm to beat the living daylights out of him, I stopped myself. I did not want another stain on my record at this sixth form. The last thing I needed was another contract!

            “Touchy, touchy,” Clarus stated, with a smug, smarmy grin on his pale, pallid countenance.

            “Plinius, I never knew you to be so violent!” Tacitus interjected. “Are you sure you’re not high again?”

            “I did not ask any of you to get involved,” I snapped, glaring at the Secundi Filii, who were standing around me, waiting expectantly for a fight to break out. “Clarus. Listen to me. Buy me a yacht, or I will be very, _very_ angry.”

            Clarus snorted with laughter at this.

            “I am sure you will. Enjoy that anger. And please, if you _do_ decide to bother us again, make sure you do so without acting like a baby.”

            I stormed off before I unleashed a barrage of vicious blows to his face. What a horrible piece of work! He really does not belong in the Secundi Filii. But… but… I cannot believe that I verbally lashed out at Tacitus. How unforgivably rude of me! Even ruder, considering that he had been so kind to me previously! Surely, this was the perfect reason for him to never speak to me again. My standing amongst the Secundi Filii has been irreparably damaged. Of that I am sure.

 


	28. 28th October, 2015

28/10/15

 

What a strange occurrence. I got home from school this afternoon, to find that there was a parcel addressed to me waiting to be opened. This concerned me, since I had not purchased anything in the last few days, but I nevertheless decided to have a look at what was inside.

            It was a packet of twelve small plastic babies.

            My first thought was that this was a mistake on the postal service’s part. Perhaps this parcel was accidentally placed into the pile of post meant for the Villa Plinia, when it was really for another household? Unfortunately not: it was addressed to me, quite clearly. My full name, ‘Luci filius’ and all, was printed on the label, followed by my address.

            I had no idea what to make of this. There was no hint as to who this was from– the parcel was the simple, generic cardboard packaging of Amazon.co.uk. There was no note inside, no personal message, no address label from the person who had sent this. For all intents and purposes, it looked like _I_ had ordered the twelve plastic babies.

            Suddenly, I felt a chill shoot down my spine. This was very odd. Very strange. I felt… a little bit creeped out, as the colloquialism goes. What sort of weird individual would send me twelve plastic babies? Who in the world even knew my address?

            Curses! By the gods! I had given it out to all the partygoers, before I had decided that we would meet at the yacht, rather than my house! How silly I had been. One of the unsavoury plebs must have retained the information, and decided to irritate me for laughs. But who would do that? I do not even remember everyone who attended my party! How am I expected to uncover the person– or people– who sent these babies?

            My life is getting more confusing by the day. And I still haven’t got my yacht.


	29. 1st November, 2015

01/11/15

 

I can barely write, for I am so ecstatic. My pen shakes in my hand as I attempt to write these words. My mind keeps drifting off into sweet, beautiful thoughts. Let me start from the very beginning, and tell you in detail all about my wonderful day.

            I have just come back from another perfect date with Cat.

            This time, it was his choice of place, and he suggested a small, independent cafe in the ‘hip’ area of town (I believe this is a correct slang term), where he lives. Of course, I said yes to this, deferring to his undoubtedly superior taste in these matters.

            When the day finally came, I woke up extremely early to give myself enough time to get ready. As was usual before I met with Cat, I panicked about what clothing would be suitable to wear– should I wear a suit, as I did to school every day, or should I attempt to dress down? I had no casual clothes at all, much less clothes suitable for the undoubtedly cool and stylish atmosphere of this cafe. Cat, with his effortlessly fashionable taste in clothing, would fit in perfectly, but me? I would look so utterly out of place, like a Gaul in the Senate. What could I do?

            Eventually I settled upon one of my favourite suits, but panicked once again, and took off the jacket and tie. I felt naked without these key items, but reckoned that I looked somewhat more casual. A brilliant idea struck me at that moment: to undo the top button and roll up the sleeves of the shirt. Saying goodbye to my exquisite cufflinks, I removed them and carefully rolled the sleeves up to my elbows. I undid the top button, then the next one down, thinking that it would make me look a little cooler. Unfortunately, I looked ridiculous.

            I settled upon just the top button undone, then moved onto the rest of my morning routine. I took so long to do this that by the time I was finished, it was almost time to leave. Just to make sure that I smelled fragrant, I put on a touch more aftershave, but noticed that– alas!– I had missed a small section of my jawline when I was shaving. What a barbarian I was! This is why I usually get the household barber to shave me instead!

            The situation quickly sorted out, I had a look once more at my iPad, upon which was displayed a map of the city, along with the directions to the cafe. Instinctively, I got up to go to the bell, which I normally rung to summon Jonty so that he could prepare my litter. But I stopped. Did I really need to take the litter? I already looked too out of place to even _set foot_ in that area of town… did I really want to exacerbate that?

            I managed to change the directions on the iPad to display the route using public transport, a wave of fear crashing over my body. I was going to… I was going to take the bus.

            Thankfully, there was a bus that went directly to the cafe from the bus stop which is fairly near my house. I walked there, clutching a piece of paper upon which I had written all of the directions from the iPad, my heart pounding and a knot in my stomach. When I reached the bus stop, I was relieved to find that other people were there. Upon inspection of the timetable I learned that only one bus passed by, meaning that all those here would be going my way. Such excellent news! That meant that I would not have to signal for the bus (a task too difficult, too terrifying, too Herculean for me).

            I spent fifteen tense minutes waiting there, hopping from foot to foot, playing with the money in my wallet to calm my nerves. How much would this even cost? I had no idea. I had heard that buses were extremely cheap, but what did this mean? Less than one hundred pounds? Less than fifty? Less than ten?

            Finally, the bus arrived, and a random pleb signalled for it. I joined the queue of people getting in, mentally rehearsing what I was going to say, reading my piece of paper over and over again so that I did not mispronounce the name of the bus stop.

            Thank the gods! My oratory skills were up to par, and I did not stutter a single word. To my complete amazement, the bus fare turned out to be a paltry £1.75, a sum so small that I did not even have the change for it. I was forced to part with a ten pound note, incurring a disapproving glare from the bus driver.

I got away quickly, finding a seat that looked the least dirty and plebeian. Fortunately, this bus was a new one, so all the seats were of a satisfactory leather-like material (the colour left something to be desired), and there was not a lot of grime on any of the surfaces. The icing on the cake of this pleasantly surprising sequence of events was that there was a small screen, showing the name of the current stop, changing to the name of the next stop once we had set off.

Looking at my piece of paper, I saw that I needed to go twelve stops, and get off on the thirteenth. I kept a careful eye on the screen– the moment that it showed the name of the stop at which I was meant to get off, I would press the button and prepare to disembark.

And there it was! The automated voice read out the name of the stop, so I leaned over and slammed my finger onto the nearest button reading ‘STOP’. Once we had reached my destination, I walked triumphantly down the aisle, glowing with pride at my excellent handling of this potentially difficult journey.

“Thank you very much,” I said to the bus driver, stopping to incline my head in his direction in gratitude.

I turned and stepped out of the bus. The first thing I saw, to my great joy, was Cat.

“Plinius!” he exclaimed, his mouth wide open, but the corners of his lips curled up in a smile. “ _You?_ Taking the _bus?_ ”

“Yes, Cat,” I replied. “I am now a changed man.”

“In a good way? Or in, like, an ‘I’m a pleb now’ way?”

“I cannot be sure. I do hope that I have gained some useful life experience from this, or at least a new insight into the world of the plebs. It is very fascinating.”

Cat clearly could not help but laugh at this.

“Shall we go then?” he eventually asked.

I nodded in assent, and Cat led me to a small and out-of-the way road, where the cafe turned out to be situated. Its façade was certainly interesting, with a hand-painted sign and a blackboard displaying a hand-written menu.

“This place does the _best_ smoothies,” Cat told me, as we went through the small door and found a table at which to sit.

“I will certainly have one, in that case,” I replied, trying to inject some emotion into my voice (for I feared that it normally sounded too monotone and sarcastic).

We sat down at a free table, and Cat immediately had a look at the menu. It only took him a few seconds to decide what he wanted. He handed it to me, and I perused the selection of food and drinks available. To my surprise, almost every item was vegetarian, and most were also vegan. Was veganism really common enough to warrant a cafe almost exclusively catered to it?

I eventually settled upon a simple berry smoothie, since Cat had recommended it to me. He went to the till and ordered our drinks, and commenced conversation when he returned.

“So, have you received any more plastic babies in the post?”

We both laughed, since the whole event had become a huge joke in my mind. Honestly, there was no use being scared that someone had my address and was sending me things; it was just too ridiculous. Plastic babies? How could one _not_ find that amusing?

“Unfortunately not,” I said, “although I would love some more; my twelve _are_ getting lonely.”

Cat suddenly burst out laughing again, as if such sharp wit could never come from me.

“You’re actually so funny, you know…” he finally said. “You seem so serious and shit, but, like…”

“Well, one of the key aspects in successful oratory _is_ wit! One cannot be _completely_ dry and humourless.”

A waitress came over and set down the drinks on our table. We thanked her, and she gave me– and me alone– a warm and dazzling smile. I could only give her an ugly grin in return, my cheeks undoubtedly going red. It seemed that Cat had drawn the wrong conclusion from this, for he gave me a very suggestive look: eyes half-lidded in a sultry manner, one eyebrow raised, one corner of his lip curled up in a smirk.

He did not… he did not think that this woman was appealing, did he? He did not find her… sexy?

Words were immediately robbed from my throat. A sudden pang of some inexplicable emotion shot through my stomach, and my eyes widened like the silver moon. My worst fears had just been realised. With a stutter, I managed to choke some words out:

“W-w… wa– wait… are… are you… _heterosexual?_ ”

I had been pursuing him all this time! All this time! And he did not even like men! All of the things that had happened between us were just… just friendly! Platonic, and not even in the original sense of the word! I could have broken down and cried then and there.

Cat gave me an extremely confused look, which soon turned into a bemused smile. His hand in front of his mouth to suppress a laugh (ah, to express my woe every time he did that!), he asked me:

“What? What are you on about?”

“Wh-what do you mean? That look you just gave me! It looked as if you found that waitress sexually attractive! And that must mean that you are straight!”

“Me? Straight? Have you _met_ me? I like girls, I guess, but I’m sure as hell not straight! And I totally wasn’t implying that that waitress was h--”

“How can you be ‘not straight’ if you like girls?” I interrupted him. “Is this… is this the sort of sexuality that our Greek and Roman ancestors possessed? Is that still… still... a _thing_ these days?”

“Of course it is! You don’t just have to like one gender! There’s bi, pan, demi, grey, ace… shit, there are a _fuckton_ of sexuality labels. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of any of them before!”

“I must confess,” I said, “I am very uneducated with regards to these sorts of issues. I had no idea. I just assumed that, because you made that expression when I had that interaction with the waitress, you were interested in women, and not men. It got me very worried, because… well, it made me unsure of the status of our relationship.”

I felt my cheeks burn, so I took a sip of my drink and tried to calm myself down. The delicious taste gently caressed my mouth, making me instantly happier.

“Oh? Did it?” he asked, with a sincere, somewhat compassionate, somewhat amused, smile. “So what _is_ the status of our relationship, in your opinion?”

“Umm… well… I… I could not say… for fear of being embarrassed… B-but I had always assumed that this was something more than mere friendship…”

Cat sat back in his chair, another smirk on his face. “What gave you that idea? The hand-holding? The dates? The kissing?”

I knew for certain that I was blushing by now.

“Oh, Plinius!” he exclaimed, laughing in his beautiful, melodious way. “You look so embarrassed! Even more embarrassed than _me_ , and that’s saying something!”

Very strangely, very suddenly, I noticed at that moment that he could not pronounce the letter S very well. I had picked up on it very early on, in fact on the first day that I had ever met him, but normally it was so small and insignificant that one could barely hear it. However, the words that he had just uttered had such a pronounced lisp to them that I could not help but notice. I was so ashamed of myself, feeling so rude and inappropriate at even _thinking_ of this, that I must have made some sort of obvious facial expression.

Cat frowned, looking disappointed with himself. O, I had ruined things now!

“It wasn’t _that_ obvious, was it?” he ventured.

“I have no idea what you mean!” I replied, to my disgust sounding like I was being sarcastic and irreverent.

“Dude,” he said. “I lisped the _fuck_ out of that sentence. Like, I know you noticed; I mean, who couldn’t?”

Thankfully, he did not look too hurt by my utterly reprehensible actions.

“I… I… I…” I stammered pathetically. “I apologise. I was… just… surprised. With all due respect, it is never quite as… significant as that.”

Cat turned away from me momentarily, hiding his face behind his hands, as if to rid himself of the uncomfortable feelings that I had just brought up in him.

“Fuck,” he stated. “I’m sorry. Don’t worry about it. Anyway. Shit, I’m like so self-conscious now…”

“I am so incredibly sorry, Cat!” I cried, my heart slashed, broken, bleeding from the awful way in which I had ruined the conversation. “I did not mean to be so rude, to make you feel self-conscious! This is all my fault. I understand if you never want to speak to me again.”

“No no no, it’s nothing to do with you!” he replied, hand in front of his mouth as he usually did when he laughed. I was utterly crushed by this, cursing and blaming myself vehemently.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course! I just… yeah… I dunno…” He sighed, not holding my gaze. “I just used to be _ridiculously_ self-conscious, you know? Like, I barely spoke to people until secondary school. I dunno… it’s just pretty embarrassing, you know… speaking like that?”

“It is hardly noticeable,” I tried to reassure him.

“Really?” he asked incredulously. “Tell me honestly; I won’t be offended: when did you first notice?”

Agh! I was caught in a corner from which I could not escape without lying.

“Ah… well…” I began.

“It was the first day you met me, wasn’t it?”

I opened and closed my mouth repeatedly, trying to find the right words.

“... Yes,” was what I eventually came out with.

He laughed, hopefully out of amusement, rather than nerves or awkwardness.

“Yeah, thought so. It’s _kind of_ obvious.”

“If this helps in any way, it is nothing to worry about. Everybody has quirks in their speech, whether it be accent, pronunciation, or any other combination of things. I am certain that people make more fun of my accent than your lisp.” I paused. “If you could even call it that; I mean, it _is_ barely noticeable...”

“I guess,” he replied. “It only tends to come out when I’m, like, embarrassed or something, which sucks. But then, _you’re_ stuck with that posh voice all the time!”

I chuckled at this unexpected humour. Thank the gods; the situation was over. I had clearly not offended Cat too deeply.

“I speak properly, I’ll have you know! I would not be out of place in the Senate, with my excellent enunciation and delivery. At least I elide only when there is elision. Someone like Regulus runs together _all_ his words, as if he is drunk! And that is just when he speaks Latin!”

“Regulus’ Latin is not on point,” Cat noted. “I can barely understand him sometimes! I normally just speak English with him anyway. You know, he thinks I actually _can’t_ speak Latin. Like, past the basics. What a pleb.”

“Absorbed my vocabulary, have we?” I joked.

“Shit, did I _actually_ just say that? My God… I just called someone a pleb, _unironically._ Plinius, _what have you done to me_?”

We shared a lengthy and genuine laugh, ending up looking at each other with what I hoped was a romantic gaze. I could tell that I was going red again, but I was comforted in the fact that Cat was the same.

“I have had a very good time,” I finally managed to say. “Thank you very much for taking me here.”

“No problem! I’m glad you liked it! I had a lot of fun as well.”

“Even when I messed up?”

“Even when you messed up.”

By this point, we had stood up, and were walking to exit the cafe. Cat slid his hand into mine, giving me a quick glance for approval. I smiled at him, becoming overwhelmed by joy and bliss. Cat honestly made me feel better than anyone else did– including Tacitus, who up until this time I had thought made me happiest. But he was nothing compared to Cat.

“See you on Monday,” he said, reaching up to wrap his arms around my shoulders.

“Yes…” I was already tongue-tied at this physical contact. “See you. Have a nice weekend.”

He gave me a quick, yet extremely sincere and beautiful kiss. I was suddenly overcome by emotion, such pure contentment and euphoria and longing, such strong feelings that I lost all control of my actions and good sense. I kissed back just as he was beginning to break away, my hands around his waist, desiring so much in that moment to be with him.

It was as if this was meant to happen, as if this had been spun into both our threads of Destiny. Cat did not even hesitate, pull back, as I thought he would have done– he reciprocated, returned the kiss with just as much passion as I had, closing his eyes just as I did the same, embracing me tighter when I did. It only lasted for a short time, but in my love-clouded mind it felt like a thousand years, each one slipping away so perfectly. O, even now I can barely articulate my feelings! These words do not do justice to that kiss, to Cat, to the beauty of the day; language fails me, as it always does when speaking of him.

This is not even love– although I am not certain sometimes– but it still overwhelms me with wonderful, wonderful feelings. I have only known him for two months! Two months, and I already feel this way towards him! Truly, I am but an inexperienced youth, prey to the tempestuous emotions swirling through me and in me like Neptune’s most powerful storm.

When we broke away from the kiss, I could do nothing but gaze at him and smile, still lost on the sea of bliss. He looked as if he were about to laugh, utterly overjoyed, utterly elated at what had just happened.

“Finally!” he teased. “How long has it been since you promised to kiss me?”

“Was it worth the wait?”

He paused, giving me a look so adorable that I could have sworn I was in Elysium, viewing the shade of a beautiful ancient hero.

“Definitely.”

I had nothing to say to this. Once more, words fled from my throat and dissipated in the air, useless. However, Cat had not been robbed in the same way that I had:

“Well, see you later. I hope we get to do that again sometime!”

With a heart-melting, somewhat– rather, _extremely–_ cheeky smile, he turned on his heel and began to walk away.

“Was that a proper goodbye?” I called after him, unable to stop the grin now crossing my face. He stopped in his tracks, looked back and returned to me.

“Bye, Plinius!” he replied, embracing me once more with a laugh. I returned this embrace with great enthusiasm.

“Goodbye, Cat!”

I let him go, and we finally parted.

Venus deserves a thousand prayers for this! A hundred thousand! And still a hundred thousand more! Not even a thousand additional offerings, ten thousand additional sacrifices, would be suitable thanks for what she has done. Everything else in my life may be unsatisfactory, but Venus gives me such immeasurable joy that it is almost bearable. Truly, she has bestowed on me such perfect and numerous blessings.


	30. 2nd November, 2015

02/11/15

 

That loathsome pig Regulus just will not stop sticking his greasy nose into my life!

            This afternoon, I wandered into my Law lesson, hoping to have another excellent hour being taught by the fascinating Mr Cicero. Unfortunately, he was away, and there was no cover teacher, meaning that we would have to get on with the work which he had set on our own.

The rowdy plebs of the class started to talk loudly, causing the entire atmosphere of the room to become noisy and completely not studious. Some people even got up and left to go home early. I, on the other hand, tried to ignore the shouting and get on with the work. If I completed it now, I could start on my homework early, leaving me less to do when I got home that evening.

To my utter disgust, Regulus took the liberty of initiating a conversation with me.

“Exciting news, Plinius!” he chuckled, slapping me on the back cordially.

“What?” I asked, through gritted teeth.

“A friend of mine told me that he saw you yesterday, in a cafe in town… with a certain Gaius Valerius Catullus.”

I whipped round to glare at him, the grip on my pen tightening in fury.

“Excuse me?”

“I am so happy for you, my dear Plinius!” he exclaimed.

“Why?”

“I think you know, my friend! You and Cat, as I’ve heard, were… how shall I phrase it? Sharing slightly more than just embraces?”

What a blow! What a horrible blow this was! One of Regulus’ little minions had spotted me and Cat on our date! O, this would surely soon become a rumour, and be spread amongst everyone in the sixth form… Could I live with the judgement, on top of all the other judgement that I was subject to daily?

My train of thought was interrupted by more irritating words from the unpleasant mouth of Regulus.

“So, is he good at kissing? How do his lips taste? How do they feel? Do they send you to the heights of ecstasy?”

“Enough,” I snapped. “Why would you even ask me such questions?”

“I’m curious! According to some people from our secondary school, Cat is _quite_ the kisser…”

“Stop bothering me, Regulus.” I turned back to my work and tried to block him out.

“I just want to know about your relationship! I’m just so glad that you’ve found someone! And someone so wonderful!”

“Shut up.”

But he simply would not close his mouth. For the next ten minutes he kept pestering me, trying time and time again to get me to describe the intimate details of my date with Cat. Eventually, I just could not deal with him anymore, so I gave up and told him what he wanted to hear.

“It was lovely. I had a very good time with him, and I would love to do it again. He is a very sweet, kind and loving individual, who, yes, is excellent at kissing. I like him very much, and I believe that he likes me back to the same extent. We will probably go out again soon– somewhere far, far away from any of your friends.”

“O, Plinius! How touching! You are just so smitten… My heart is simply _melting_!” Regulus squealed, his eyes sparkling with what I assumed to be smug satisfaction. “Now, onto more important topics. Have you slept together yet?”

My eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and my mouth dropped open.

“Ugh! How _dare_ you ask that?” I shrieked. “Of course we haven’t!”

“Have you not thought about it? Not even once?”

“No!”

“ _Really_? Do not be ashamed, my dear friend! Sexual desire is perfectly normal! Especially…” He leaned closer towards me, now whispering in my ear– “especially considering that it is _Cat_ whom we are talking about.”

“Get away from me! I do not want to talk about sex with you!”

“Ah, I understand. I suppose you would prefer to think of it alone, in your bedroom, with just the right video on your television, some moisturiser on your bedside table, a box of tissues _just… in… c_ –”

“ _Regulus!_ ” I snapped.

“Oh Pliny, you old prude!” he laughed. “I am merely teasing you!”

I did not reply to him, turning back to my work and trying to get his words out of my mind. I was not so sure about sex on a good day, but when Regulus was talking about it… why, it seemed utterly repulsive! Even now, I do not even want to think of this. I must go and have a long, cleansing bath.


	31. 5th November, 2015

05/11/15

 

The last couple of days have been a continuous series of escalating, uncomfortable events.

            Yesterday afternoon, upon returning home from school, I found yet another package waiting for me. This was a completely plain, undecorated packet, with only my name and address on the front. There were no indications of who this had come from once again, leaving me but one option: to open it and see what was inside.

            I feared that this would be something strange like the twelve plastic babies, so I hid away in my apartments and gently peeled the end of the packet open. Reaching inside, I felt two objects. I did not particularly care about keeping them in good condition, or avoiding breaking them, so I tipped them out onto my desk.

            What in the name of the gods _were_ these things? The first object was a black, oversized ring, made of what seemed to be a rubbery substance. It had various protrusions on the inside, making it clear that this was not a ring to be worn on one’s finger, or perhaps on any other body part. It was unlike anything I had ever seen.

            The second object was very oddly-shaped, made of a slightly harder substance than the first object. It almost looked like an ice pick, with its cylindrical main body, tapering to a slightly rounded point, and what seemed to be a handle or grip at the other end. Of course, it was too small to fit a person’s entire hand; no, it looked more like something that one would pull on, in order to extract the object from some sort of hole. It was a gaudy, sparkly pink colour, and looked to be around three inches in diameter at its widest point.

            Totally clueless about what these items were, I left them on my desk. For some reason– and O, how I regret it now!– I thought it best to show them to Cat, so that he may be able to give some clues as to what they were. Even thinking of this awful plan, I cringe. Why on _earth_ did I think it to be wise?

            The next morning, just before leaving the house, I placed the two objects into my briefcase. It was Thursday, meaning that I had Classical Civilisation first thing– excellent news! I could show the items to Cat almost as soon as I got in, thus settling the mystery once and for all. After registration, I was taken by litter to my lesson, where I found the teacher sitting alone at the front of the room.

            “Good morning, sir,” I greeted him, as I sat down and took out my lesson materials from my briefcase. In preparation for seeing Cat, I took out the two mystery objects– a fatal mistake, as it proved to be.

            “Plinius…” Mr Claudius said quietly.

            “Yes, sir?”

            “Wh-why are those things on your desk?”

            “Well, I–”

            “Actually, I don’t want to hear it,” he interrupted me, in an aggressive tone of voice. “This is extremely inappropriate. Go to the school nurse, immediately! I do not want such obscene objects in _school_ , let alone out openly in _my class_! Go!”

            It was at this point that I began to realise that these items were probably of an unsavoury nature. Nevertheless, I packed up my things and did as Mr Claudius asked me. The nurse was not busy, so she bade me come in as soon as she noticed me, a sympathetic expression on her face.

            “You must be Gaius Plinius,” she began. “Professor Hunton-Blather has mentioned you, saying you may come to me for a chat.”

            “I was never intending to do anything of the sort,” I replied, quite impressed that she referred to me in the correct Roman way. “However, Professor Hunton-Blather seems to think that my mental health is dipping, and that I could benefit from talking to the school about my issues. Now, anyway, this is not what I was sent here to discuss. Mr Claudius told me to come here, after seeing these objects on my desk.”

            I produced the two strange items and held them up for her to inspect. Her eyes widened suddenly, her brows shooting up in surprise. Her mouth moved to try and form words, but she seemingly could not find anything to say.

            “Well, then…” she finally stammered. “Well… Well… Okay. As a member of staff, I should be telling you that you are absolutely _not_ allowed to bring those things to school. But, as the school nurse, I think I should give you some advice and support. Please sit down.”

            I did as she bade me, curious as to what would happen next. Were these items used for illicit reasons, such as in the taking of drugs? Did she assume that I was an addict, and needed help?

            “So, obviously, wanting to have sex is normal, and wanting to use toys is also normal,” she began. I was immediately taken aback, but thought it rude to interrupt her with questions or comments. “However, this sort of stuff should really be done in the privacy of your own home, either by yourself or with a partner. I understand that some people do enjoy the idea of using sex toys throughout the day, as they’re going about their daily activities, but…” She paused and sighed. “Look. I don’t want to tell you off. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, so I don’t want you to feel ashamed.

            “In fact, I’ll take this conversation a different way. I feel obliged to give instructions and guidance as to how to safely use sex toys, s–”

            “With all due respect…” I started to say. However, the school nurse continued to talk.

            “I think I have a few leaflets here, actually…Darn it. I don’t. But it doesn’t matter. So, lube is an absolutely essential part of toy use. A water-based lubricant is always a good choice, but silicone-based lubes are much more long-lasting– however, they can’t be used with silicone toys. Obviously, for the… um… the cock ring–” at this point she pointed to the black ring-shaped object– “you won’t really need lube, but for the, uh, butt plug–” she pointed to the other object– “you will. Applying lube can be made... sexy, I suppose, if you’re maybe doing this with a partner and are worried about ruining the mood…”

            My face was burning like the very flames of Tartarus, completely engulfed in a blazing inferno. I was as red as the freshly-spilled blood upon the sands of an amphitheatre’s arena, my eyebrows at my hairline, my jaw on the floor. I could not believe the words that I was hearing. This mystery sender had given me sex toys! And I had brought them into school! _To show Cat!_ O, immortal gods, if he had seen them… He would have got completely the wrong idea! Our relationship could have been ruined!

            “Ma’am, I hate to interrupt, but I must make it known that I was not planning on using them,” I said, my voice sounding extremely flustered.

            “Oh, were they for a partner then?” she asked.

            “I… I really don’t think that Cat would–”

            I slapped a hand over my mouth. The realisation of the words that I had just uttered hit me with vicious, stinging force.

            “What was that name again?” Her tone of voice sounded so strangely sincere, compassionate and genuine. Ugh! I had ruined everything by not thinking before I spoke.

            “Nothing, no one… It really does not matter…”

            “Look, I’m not trying to get at you or anything,” the nurse said, leaning slightly forwards with a sympathetic expression on her face. “I’m just a bit worried about you. You seem like you don’t really know what to do, and I don’t want you or your partner to get hurt. I know it’s embarrassing, but it’s _so_ important to be safe. Was it Cat that you said? As in Gaius Valerius Catullus?”

            I did not immediately reply, but my facial expression must have been enough to tell her that she was right.

            “Okay. Wait there; I think I’ll need to get him for a bit of a chat.”

            Despite my stuttered protests, she left the room to retrieve Cat from his lesson (Classical Civilisation, the one that I was currently missing).

            A few minutes later, she returned with a bewildered-looking Cat in tow. Despite the odd situation, I could not help but marvel at his gorgeous green shirt, which complemented his eyes perfectly and had the sleeves rolled up in an exceedingly attractive way. The nurse invited him to sit down in a chair which she pulled from the corner of the room and placed next to me. He sat down, gave me a quick, confused look, then turned to the nurse as she began to speak.

            “Now, Cat, Plinius was sent to me this morning, since he was found to be in possession of these objects.” She gestured to the sex toys. “I soon found out that he was in some sort of relationship with you– the particulars of which I will of course not pry into or try to find out. Normally, this would be none of my business, but it seems like Plinius was unsure of how to go about using the toys, so I just wanted to make sure that you were both up to speed to avoid any possible injuries.”

            Cat gave me a sideways glance, his utter incredulity visible even then. The nurse picked up on this.

            “Cat, you seem somewhat surprised. Has Plinius not discussed with you the idea of using toys in the bedroom?”

            “No…” he replied, looking to be finding it difficult to find words.

            There was silence for a few moments, giving me the perfect opportunity to end this shambles once and for all.

            “I appreciate your concern, but I assure you that I had no intentions of using these objects. I simply received them in the post, and was totally unsure of what they were, so had the idea to ask my most trusted–” I paused– “friend about them. I had absolutely no idea that these were items of a sexual nature, and therefore inappropriate for a school environment. It will not happen again.”

            Nobody spoke, as they seemed to be even more confused than they already were.

            “You received them in the post?” the nurse repeated.

            “Yes,” I replied. “From an anonymous sender. This is something that has begun to happen over the past couple of weeks, but do not worry.”

            “Right then… Well, it seems like we’re done here. Sorry for inconveniencing you, and I hope you find out who the anonymous sender is soon. If it keeps happening, don’t be afraid to talk to us: it really seems like this could step into the realm of harassment if it continues like this.”

            Cat and I bade her farewell, I put the disturbing objects back into my briefcase, and we left the office.

            As soon as we were out of earshot, Cat stopped walking and turned to face me directly.

            “What the fuck?” he asked. “What the hell just happened?”

            “I am so sorry, Cat, so incredibly s–”

            “Don’t apologise!” he cut in, laughing. “It’s just… like… what the hell? It’s so weird! That whole thing was so weird! First it was the sex toys, and I was like ‘oh shit, what does he want to do with me?’, and then you were like ‘I got them in the post’, and it was just like… I’m fucking confused.”

            “I know; it is a very unusual situation. This must be the same sender who gave me those twelve plastic babies.”

            “This person is pretty fucking weird, man…” he said. “But seriously, did you not know what those things were?”

            “No, I did not. Why would I? I have no interest in sex, let alone these… _things_!”

            “Well, of course! I obviously don’t like to assume, but you pretty much radiate ace…”

            Yet another word that I did not know. Truly, Cat was introducing me to plebeian language every single day.

            “Ace?” I repeated.

            “Yeah, ace. Asexual. Not being sexually attracted to people.”

            “I must admit, I have never heard of this concept before. Is it normal?”

            “Of course it is! It’s completely normal!”

            “I am glad. I am sure that I will have to look into this more, but… it seems to be a word that resonates with me. I had never considered it before, but… yes, it does seem that I have not ever been sexually attracted to anyone. But how rude that sounds! Please do not think that I am not attracted to you!”

            “It’s not rude!” he exclaimed, smiling compassionately. “There are other types of attraction! And you’ve got to be feeling at least one of them towards me…” He gave me a flirtatious, cheeky look, raising one eyebrow and smirking (attractively).

            This was a lot to take in. My mind was reeling, overwhelmed with various thoughts. Unfortunately, this meant that my eloquence disappeared, and I ended up asking him ridiculous questions.

            “But what about you? What if you are sexually attracted to me, and I do not reciprocate? Surely you will then feel resentment towards me? And what if you want to… what if you want to sleep with me one day? I am not sure that I like that idea, but… I would not want to stop you from doing something that you wanted! The idea of sex… O, I am not sure if I can stomach it, but… I feel so mean saying this! I could not live with the thought that you wanted to have sex, and I did not! Surely you would hate me for that? Surely?”

            Cat could only laugh at this, placing a hand on my shoulder as if to reassure me.

            “Don’t worry. I’m ace as fuck. Sex isn’t exactly anywhere on my list of priorities.”

            I exhaled deeply, as if I had been holding my breath for a long time.

            “Right. Good. Well. I… This has been interesting. I shall have to ponder on this more deeply. Thank you very much, as always– you truly are opening my eyes to an entire world which I had no idea existed.”

            Cat gave me a sweet, sincere, warm smile.

            “Well, if you ever wanna talk about this stuff, then just ask,” he said. “I don’t know everything, but I’ll always listen and support you.”

            I refrained from embracing him, since we had now completed the journey to the classroom and were standing just outside the door.

            At some point during my lesson, I became acutely aware that the news of my little mishap could spread around the school at any moment. When I arrived late to Classical Civilisation, nobody seemed to care where I had been– at least, nobody asked me– leading me to hope and pray that they would not look into things, or connect the dots and draw the correct conclusions.

            But there was no chance of this, I eventually realised. All that appeared to have happened was that Cat visited the school nurse and coincidentally arrived back to the lesson at the same time as me. Mr Claudius had not told the class where I had been, had he? It seemed unlikely; they had no reason to need to know. My classmates probably had no idea where I had gone, so could not say for certain that I was at the nurse’s office with Cat.

            And the sex toys… Nobody would ever know that I was in possession of them. Not one person. Throughout the day, I was careful to open and close my briefcase cautiously, making sure that none of its contents were visible. It was exceedingly difficult, and occasionally I moved a folder or sheet of paper in such a way that the sparkling pink surface of one of the sex toys was revealed. I prayed to all of the gods living on Olympus that no one would spot the offending object from afar.

            My greatest fear was that Regulus would eventually hear of the events of the morning. He was a very clever young man; he would undoubtedly work out what had happened, and spread it around the school like the infectious disease that he was. He of all people would be able to deduce from the available evidence that something unusual had gone on; perhaps not the sex toys, but certainly that Cat and I had a meeting with the nurse. That would be informative enough for him to draw conclusions, and I shuddered to think of them. Cat and I were thinking of having sex, and were asking the nurse for advice? We were afraid that one or both of us had contracted a sexually transmitted disease? We had been caught in the midst of a sexual encounter in school, and were getting told off? Each and every possibility sent a chill of terror through my blood.

            If Regulus finds out about this, I am sure that I will cry.


	32. 9th November, 2015

09/11/15

 

I was blessed with the pleasure of not seeing Regulus until Monday, but when I did, he spoke to me about the very thing that I dreaded he would speak about.

Yes.

            He found out about what happened on Thursday.

            And O, how unprecedented this is! How terrible! How deplorable! He knew everything, every detail that I wanted to remain hidden. He knew about the sex toys. _He knew_.

            That afternoon, I entered the classroom for period five, quite fatigued by the long day, but nevertheless excited to have another fascinating Law lesson. Of course, I was irritated by the fact that Regulus would be sitting next to me (for he always bothered me when I was trying to get on with work). I did not expect that he would bother me as much as he did this day.

            “Hello, my kinky friend!” he said– fairly quietly, thank the gods– as soon as I had sat down. “How are you?”

            “Kinky friend? How disgustingly obscene. Go away,” I replied curtly.

            “Oh, Plinius, do lighten up; I don’t mean any harm! There’s nothing to be ashamed of, bringing toys to school…”

            “Look, I do not wish to discuss this with you. Please be quiet. You are extremely immature, and you make me angry.”

            “I’m only trying to send positivity your way, my friend! I only want to show acceptance for you as a sexual human being!”

            “I would rather lie in a bath of ice water for days on end than discuss my status as a sexual human being. You are repulsive; please stop talking.”

            To my complete and utter joy, our teacher then entered the room, shutting Regulus up for a good twenty minutes. Unfortunately, we were eventually given some questions from our textbook to answer, giving Regulus the perfect opportunity to continue his odious ‘conversation’.

            “So, how did Cat, um, _address_ you, after he was called into the nurse’s office for a chat about your sexual fantasies?”

            “What on earth do you mean, ‘how did he address me’? That makes absolutely no sense,” I replied.

            “I apologize, my meaning was not clear. I was trying to ask what he thought of the situation. You see, to me he has never seemed like one to be interested in… fornication. O, he used to be such a hopeless romantic! Continually falling for boys, never being subtle about it… The rumours that used to spread about his romantic desires… the whole school used to know every time he fell for someone new!”

            I fought a tide of bile which was creeping up my throat. To hear Regulus talk of Cat and romance in the same breath… It made my skin crawl. That was not his territory.

            “Enough of this!” I snapped.

            “I’m only trying to warn you, Plinius,” he said, his voice taking a more serious, sombre tone. “Cat is fickle; extremely so, in fact. It may seem like he is head-over-heels in love with you now, but in a month… who knows? He could have gone onto someone else. My darling, many a young man has been enchanted by the alluring beauty that is Gaius Valerius Catullus– they are attracted to him, question their sexuality, get involved with him for a short while, and then it all ends in a mess of rejection, ignoring one another and intense pining. I would hate that to happen to you!”  
            My entire body was shaking. My fists were clenched under the table. My eyes were narrowed, shooting lethal looks in Regulus’ direction. How could he say this? How could he be so rude, so unforgivably rude?

            “If you say another word…” I muttered, my voice absolutely dripping with venom.

            “Don’t be angry, my friend! I am simply telling you the truth. There is something about Cat that bewitches people… Which is strange, because it isn’t as if he is extremely physically attractive–”

            I would like to think that the look I gave him at that moment was what was enough to shut him up, but in fact it was most likely Mr Cicero telling him to be quiet and get on with his work.

            O, I truly felt like Achilles in that moment… I could not have been angrier. Slaughtering every single human being in the city of Troy would not have quenched my fury. Regulus… O, Regulus… Even now I cannot find the words to articulate my rage. The emotions are coming back to me, as fresh as they were earlier today. I can barely hold my pen, for my hands are shaking so much. I must leave to calm down.

 

I am back. Everything is okay now. I am slightly less stressed, and I can continue my recount of the day.

So, as aforementioned, I was totally overwhelmed by inexpressible anger. Regulus seemed to notice this, since his face contorted into a cruel, ugly expression, a sickening smile creeping across his rotund cheeks.

“O, Plinius, do be careful– don’t _go postal_ on us!” he cried, before breaking down into fits of chuckles and guffaws.

I lost all good sense at that moment, and stood up from my chair suddenly, ready to beat him into the next life. The entire class turned to look at me, everything going silent for a moment.

“Something you would like to say to us, Plinius?” asked Mr Cicero.

My face burned a bright shade of crimson, as I struggled to find the words to say.

“I apologise, sir…” I eventually said. “I do not know what came over me… It was very unbecoming, very rude. It shall not happen again.”

I sat down, wanting the earth to open up and swallow me. I do not think I have experienced such strong emotions as I have done this day. Fuck Regulus.

 


	33. 12th November, 2015

12/11/15

 

I am disturbed and distressed. I should be angry, but I cannot find it within myself– I am instead filled to the brim with a deep and powerful sadness. A terrible realisation has been creeping into me, and there is nothing that I can do to stop the feelings that are coursing through me like a thunderous river.

            Antinous was officially inducted into the Secundi Filii today. Antinous, the boy who has only been amongst them for two months. Antinous, over me, who has been within their circle for years.

            I am not even sure that I _am_ within their circle, considering what has happened.

            Now, let me recount the day. I must go through these feelings, and try to make sense of them, hopefully get over them. I do not want to have these thoughts on my mind constantly; they hurt too much.

            During my Political Science lesson over periods two and three, I felt somewhat confident, so asked Tacitus and Hadrian what they would be getting up to afterwards, for we had no lessons in the afternoon. Normally, I spend lunch with Cat, then do my homework in school until it is time for fencing. However, Cat was unfortunately not in– thus eliminating the possibility of meeting with him– so I decided that I might quietly insert myself into the Secundi Filii’s post-lunch plans.

            “So, boys, what are you going to be up to after this lesson?” I asked, as we sat and got on with some difficult questions from our textbook.

            “Not much,” replied Hadrian, absent-mindedly stroking his freshly-trimmed beard. “Just some matters relating to the Secundi Filii.”

            “What might those be?” I ventured.

            Tacitus turned and gave me a small, suggestive smirk.

            “He’s inducting Antinous into the Secundi Filii,” he said.

            I stopped short, unsure whether I had actually heard him correctly.

            “Inducting… Antinous?” I repeated.

            “Yes. Hadrian has deemed him suitable to join us. He will be getting his blazer, cardigan and pocket watch this lunchtime, and then we will go for a celebratory meal at a seafood restaurant.”

            I could tell that his ‘we’ and ‘us’ did not include me.

            “Well…” was all I managed to say.

            Tacitus turned back to his work for a moment, but then I found my voice:

            “I thought that there was a trial period of at _least_ six months…? At least, you told me that in Year 10; and you told me that in Year 11; and you told me that after GCSEs; and you told me that at the beginning of this year… Why, Tacitus, you said that I was still in my trial period! You said that trial periods could be exceedingly long– up to three years! And I quote you on this! What is so special about Antinous that he can bypass these regulations, which you seemed to imply were so rigorous?”

            By the end of my rant, my voice was rather loud, meaning that Mr Traianus gave me a stern and sharp “shh!”. Tacitus’ facial expression softened, assuming an almost compassionate air.

            “Plinius, I do apologise,” he said quietly. “Hadrian is the one who deals with these issues; I cannot do anything contrary to his wishes. As much as anyone else would like you in the Secundi Filii, if Hadrian does not, you will not be inducted. He seems to have… somewhat of a preference for Antinous.”

            Ugh! That boy was only getting into such an exclusive club because he got Hadrian’s dick hard! If only I had known that things were so corrupt, I would not have even bothered to try and become a part of the Secundi Filii. I was, in fact, considering giving up. What _was_ the point, when all that mattered for membership was whether Hadrian was interested in you? I did not particularly like the man anyway. Power had got to his head in recent months, clearly. He really was displaying _all_ the qualities of our Roman ancestors, both noble and base.

            But how could I sever ties with the Secundi Filii? It would mean severing ties with Tacitus! Despite all my wonderful experiences with Cat, I still get a thrill, a sudden inexplicable feeling in the pit of my stomach, whenever I speak with him. I have tried to suppress it, as it is totally unacceptable and unfair on Cat, but it just will not go away. Tacitus causes emotions in me that only Cat can surpass. And how immoral I feel even _thinking_ this!

            I cannot write anymore on this subject. I am too disgusted with myself.

            The lesson soon ended, my mind being utterly shredded by negative emotions. I wanted so dearly to go home, to get away from these people who were causing me distress, but I had fencing that afternoon. I had to stay until the end of period five, and _then_ spend hours with the very people whom I was now unhappy with. If only I had a phone, and could text or call Cat, so that we could converse and ease my pain!

            Once I was out of the classroom, I debated whether or not to follow the Secundi Filii and watch the induction ceremony. I decided against it, fearing that it would further wound my already shattered heart. Instead, I went to the library, setting out all my books and folders and diving straight into some homework. I had essays to write. I had questions to complete. I had worksheets to fill in. I did not need to bother myself with the Secundi Filii and their new member.

            However, all that raced through my mind were thoughts of them, the ceremony, and all my dismal emotions. I could not concentrate on any of my work. I ended up sitting at the desk, head in hands, staring blankly at an empty piece of lined paper, being eaten up by rage and sadness. There was just too much to think about; I could not even articulate why I was so furious, why I was so miserable. The only words that I could muster up were: _they hate you. They do not want you in the Secundi Filii. They do not want you to be friends with them._

Tears began to creep up, threatening to spill out. Such weakness! How could I even _consider_ crying at this incident? What was I? What was this ridiculous reaction?

            I slammed my pen onto the desk, a little too hard, then shoved all my things into my briefcase. I was not in a state to do work; I was not even in a state to remain in school. But how could I leave? I was not ill. I had no real reason.

            But all of a sudden, a brilliant idea flashed through my mind like Jupiter’s lightning-bolt. I immediately went over to the nurse’s office, blinking my eyes violently in an attempt to draw out some tears. Unfortunately, this was unsuccessful, and not even a single drop was brought up by the time the nurse opened the door to welcome me in.

            “Good afternoon, Plinius. What seems to be the problem?”

            Here I launched into my grand lie.

            “You remember, ma’am, that Professor Hunton-Blather spoke to you about me?” I began. “Well, I think that I would like to make use of the help and support that you are willing to offer me.”

            The nurse’s face took on an air of extreme sympathy.

            “Oh? What’s happened?”

            She closed the door and bade me sit down.

            “I am just… quite overwhelmed by many things,” I said. “I thought that I could handle it by myself, but it seems that I am… having a bad day today. I do not think that I can stay in school; things are just too much.”

            “Hmm… well, before I think about letting you go home, we should probably talk about what’s up. What sort of things are overwhelming you?”

            Curses! She was going to interrogate me.

            “J-just… everything,” I replied, acting my best to try and seem tearful and emotional. “School, relationships, friends… life in general, really.”

            “Let’s unpack these things, alright?” She leaned forward, giving me a small smile. “So, school. What’s difficult about that– the amount of homework you get? Your teachers? Your grades?”

            “It’s… the work; it is far harder than in the lower school. It has been quite hard to get used to it. I feel that I may not be performing to my highest standard.”

            This was a complete lie– my performance had hardly dropped from GCSEs; my grades were almost exactly the same.

            “Why is that?” she asked. “Do you not have enough time to do your homework or revise? Or have you just not been trying as hard?”

            “I think I may be resting on my laurels, using my good GCSE marks as an excuse to not try. In truth, I do not _want_ to try– other things have been consuming my mind of late, things which I think are more important than grades.”

            “And what are they?”

            I paused and sighed. Perhaps I should at least be honest about one fact.

            “Love, relationships, sexuality–”

            “I see,” the nurse interrupted. “What about these things is troubling you? Because there are many different LGBTQ groups that I could point you to… You could go and meet some young people in your position, learn from them, see that you’re not alone. Other students who have attended them have had a very positive reaction, and found them extremely helpful.”

            She looked through a drawer and pulled out at least half a dozen leaflets, each one advertising a different youth group. I took them reluctantly and stuffed them into my briefcase, not at all intending to read them. A worryingly self-loathing frame of mind taking over, I thought that I would not fit in, and would not be accepted by the teenagers at any of these groups. They would probably all hate me, and find me an irritating individual to be around.

            (Even now, in a slightly happier state, I am finding it difficult to refute these earlier thoughts of mine.)

            “I understand if you are not interested,” the nurse continued. “Some young people like to go out and meet as many people like them as possible, and others prefer to go on that journey alone. Just know that there _are_ places to go to, if you ever feel like you need to. In fact, who do you have at the moment, who you can talk to about any issues you have?”

            “My mother, I suppose,” I said, unsure why I was spilling these things out, and being truthful all of a sudden. “She is quite understanding. I would talk to my uncle, but… for some reason, I feel as if I cannot. Although I _know_ that he would be supportive of me, I simply lack the courage to approach him.”

            “Your uncle? Do you live with him then?”

            “Yes; I live with him and my mother. My father died when I was very young, so my uncle took me into his household.”

            “Ah, I see,” she said, her expression becoming even more compassionate. “What about your friends? Do you talk to them about these sorts of things?”

            Aha! This was the perfect opportunity to open the floodgates and let my deluge of tears carry me out of her office and straight home. I prayed to all the gods that I was able to cry on command.

            “I… I do not… well… n… nobody likes me,” I replied, my voice quivering somewhat, as the truthfulness of the statement hit me square in the chest.

            “Oh, don’t say that! I’m sure many people do!”

            “No, they do not… I have no friends, save for Cat. Nobody wants to be around me! Everybody finds me embarrassing, annoying, stuck-up, rude… Wherever I go, I feel that I am not wanted.”

            This was only about forty per cent exaggeration. As I continued to speak, I continued to see how– even after my yacht party– I had almost no friends. It seemed that real tears would be coming quite soon, the more I talked.

            “That is absolutely not true, Plinius,” said the nurse. “People _will_ want to hang out with you, people _will_ want to spend time with you. Anyone that doesn’t, you just shouldn’t be friends with. Actually, there are some sessions going on at a great local youth group, focusing on positive self-image and feeling more confident… let me just grab the flyer…”

            She produced yet another leaflet, which I stowed away in my briefcase with the others. I tried to think of depressing thoughts in order to get the tears flowing, but it was not happening. Spilling my inner emotions out was making me feel… _better_.

            “So, I can tell you don’t want to, but could you at least _consider_ going to one of those groups? It won’t be nearly as bad as you’re thinking it’ll be. Please?”

            “Maybe.”

            “Okay. Do you feel a bit better now? Ready to go back to school?”

            “I suppose. Thank you, ma’am.”

            “My pleasure. If you ever need anything at all, my door is always open. You don’t need to go through what you’re going through alone.”

            I stood up, bade her a final farewell, then left the office. The moment I stepped out of the door, I remembered the entire reason why I had been there. I had failed! But, on the other hand, I had lost my desire to go home. My emotions were no longer overwhelming. It had actually _helped_ me to speak to the nurse.

It seems that plebs _do_ sometimes have their uses.

 

~

 

Di immortales!

The odious package sender has sent me something new. This time, it was a box containing a cheap children’s chocolate bar known as a Freddo. But not just one– no, there were 500 of them, almost spilling out of the box when I opened it. They looked rather juvenile, what with the cartoon frog illustration on the packet, and their small size, but I decided to try one anyway.

And O, what a gorgeous symphony of flavour caressed my palate! I admit, I am not a chocolate aficionado, but to me these Freddos seemed simply delectable. The chocolate was creamy and rich, with a surprisingly deep flavour, letting the milk and the pure cocoa bean shine through on their own, but also together, in a glorious finish. The aftertaste was pleasant, lingering on the tongue in a way that made me crave another. They were so small; it would not hurt to open another one, would it?

In this way, I consumed four of the delightful chocolate treats. My mother and uncle would have been mortified to see me, so I hauled the box upstairs and hid it amongst my personal possessions, covering the box with a luxurious silk throw.

If I ever get hungry whilst doing my homework, I will be sure to open up a Freddo.


	34. 13th November, 2015

13/11/15

 

During today’s study period, I noticed something very curious. Let me give some background, before I begin.

            Thus far, the only real contact the Secundi Filii and Cat have had has been at the fencing society, or at one of the two parties at which they have both been present. To me, this signalled that they were well-acquainted enough to spend time with each other, so I invited Cat to join me during the study period. Tacitus had requested that I take this time to teach him about one topic in Political Science which he did not quite understand, to which I of course obliged. I would hate for him to have to come up against this in the exam, and be completely clueless!

He had warned me that the Secundi Filii would also be there, probably trying to distract him and get him to go and do something else, but I told him that this was okay. In that case, I thought, surely it would be fine to invite Cat, so that he did not have to spend his study period alone, or– gods forbid– with Regulus? He and Antinous seemed to have some sort of friendship. Cat could at least count on having him to socialise with, if he turned out not to connect with the Secundi Filii. They were from quite different walks of life, after all.

Apparently, they were from far more different walks of life than I could have ever imagined, for they hardly spoke to each other.

We were released from Economics, and Tacitus and I, with Hadrian accompanying, found a table in the common room, where we could work without having to be silent. I retrieved my impeccable notes, asking Tacitus what it was exactly that he did not understand. As he explained this, the rest of the Secundi Filii began to trickle in, followed by Cat. As soon as he appeared, Tacitus looked up, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly, a slight frown crossing his face.

I did not know what to make of this. Was he _unhappy_ to see Cat? Confused, since I had not notified him that he would be coming? It was a mystery to me. Surely, Tacitus and Cat had not had any… drama, which I did not know about?

Nevertheless, I began to teach Tacitus all that I knew, explaining things in a different way to our teacher, so that he could hopefully fully grasp it. Hadrian kept stepping in to offer his own opinions and knowledge, mildly irritating me, for he kept interrupting me in the middle of my sentences. Cat also joined the conversation, asking with enthusiasm what we were doing, about what we were learning. Tacitus kept ignoring him.

The entire situation was making me more anxious by the minute, for Cat was not talking to the Secundi Filii, like I hoped he would have done. Even Antinous was absorbed in some Latin homework, and did not speak to him beyond a few scattered words. Nevertheless, I pressed on, trying to battle through Hadrian’s interruptions to explain things to Tacitus. To my dismay, it was Hadrian who eventually got him to understand what he was confused about.

“Thank you, my friend!” Tacitus exclaimed, slapping Hadrian amicably on the back. “It all makes perfect sense!”

I began to put my things away.

“Oh, yes, and thank you too, Plinius,” he added. “You are very good at explanation. Your rhetoric really is honed to the highest of standards!”

My heart melted at this. My irritation dissipated. O, Tacitus! What a kind and well-meaning young man. So that I could remember this compliment forever, I secretly scribbled it down in my latest notebook of Tacitus’ sayings and quips. This was unfortunately not very full as of yet; he had not come up with quite as many genius witticisms as he had in previous years.

Did this mean something? No, surely not! Surely Tacitus was not… losing his wit? How could this be? Was he quite alright? Perhaps he was being ruined by stress due to school… O, the thought physically hurt me. He was such a strong-willed, infallible individual. Nothing seemed to bother him. But was this a mask for some sort of inner pain and misery? I could not bear to think about this. Even now, my heart begins to race, and my body goes cold, at the thought of Tacitus having to battle with some sort of depression, with no outlet for his feelings, or support from his peers.

But I cannot approach him about this. How would I go about it? What if I am wrong, and he is totally fine? How embarrassing it would be! And anyway, Regulus would probably find out somehow, and taunt me incessantly for the foreseeable future… He seems to have spies everywhere, who find out about almost everything that happens in this sixth form. It worries me, since with all this knowledge, he has an insurmountable level of power. He could tell the entire year about my relationship with Cat (and no, I do not mean in the sense that we are boyfriends, for we are not), and where would I be then? I do not know how homophobic the majority of plebs are. Would I be mocked more than I already am? Is that even possible?

O, such things have not bothered me until recently. When I was in the lower school, I was not teased as much as I am now. Everybody treated me with the utmost respect, and some– dare I say it– _admired_ me. What if that were all a façade too? What if I were just too naïve to notice people’s disdain of me? What if this is the way that things have always been, and I just did not realise it before?

_Why are things so stressful???_

I do not even know what has sparked off this uncomfortable mood. Perhaps it was the strange encounter today, which– O! I have not even finished narrating.

After I had packed away my Political Science folder, I suggested that we get out some more work to do.

“Let’s just go home!” Cat exclaimed. “I am _not_ staying here until four; I have shit to do.”

“Like doing your homework?” Tacitus snapped, his voice chillingly cold, corrosively venomous, cuttingly patronising.

“Uh, no…?” he replied, seemingly taken aback by Tacitus’ tone.

Tacitus simply raised an eyebrow at him, taking out his Economics folder so that he could do the homework which we had just been set. The rest of the Secundi Filii also got out some work, and began to complete it silently. The atmosphere around the table became unbearably awkward.

“Let’s leave,” Cat said in my ear, very quietly.

I nodded in reply, bade the Secundi Filii farewell, then scurried from the common room.

“What the fuck was with Tacitus?” he cried, not even trying to keep his voice low.

“I have no idea,” I replied, my inward heart telling me not to say unkind words about him, but my gut telling me that Tacitus really _had_ been quite rude.

“He didn’t seem that bad at, like, your party and stuff, but you know… a _little bit_ uncalled for, just then.”

“I am sure that he did not mean it. Perhaps… the words came out wrong, in the wrong tone of voice. He probably meant it in a… joking manner.”

“In that case, he’s a shitty comedian!” Cat laughed, thankfully not too offended by Tacitus’ _faux pas_.

            This was the last we spoke of Tacitus, but my mind has been replaying his words over and over again. He seemed so… hostile. So unfriendly. Nothing like his true self! Again, this must tie into his lack of humour recently. Maybe he _is_ depressed. It would certainly explain this recent development in his behaviour towards Cat.

            Or maybe it is nothing? Maybe Tacitus is just naturally like this? I cannot accept this. He, Cornelius Tacitus, could not be such a rude human being. That is not in his nature. It must be that he was having a bad day. Yes. A bad day. This means nothing. He has nothing against Cat; what could he even possibly dislike? Cat is a person whom it is impossible to dislike.

            O, Plinius, you must stop worrying so deeply about these things…


	35. 18th November, 2015

18/11/15

 

A troubling day. Nothing of note happened since Friday, but today, something happened which has shaken me to the very core.

            Previous to this event, things had been going quite well. I had completed all of my homework during my morning study period, got back an Economics essay for which I had gotten full marks, and been involved in a fascinating debate during Philosophy. What was wonderful was that my late afternoon Law lesson had been cancelled due to our teacher’s absence– I was quite fatigued by the end of Philosophy, and wanted nothing more than to go home and relax with a spot of Livy.

            And then I saw Cat. From his body language, I could immediately tell that something was wrong– his head hung down, staring at the ground; his steps and gait were devoid of life or vitality; all of his movements were slow. I walked swiftly towards him to ask what had happened.

            “Cat…” I began, before stopping myself, unsure of what to say next.

            “Hi,” he replied, his tone of voice completely lifeless and unhappy.

            “W-what is the matter?” I asked.

            “Nothing much…” He looked off into the distance, as if it were too difficult to hold my gaze.

            “Something is clearly wrong. You can tell me, if that would help.”

            “... I’m just kind of fucking pissed off right now,” he said, irritation rising in his voice.

            “What has happened?”

            “Doesn’t matter. I’m just… fuck…” He sighed.

            “I am sure it does matter, Cat,” I said, in as consoling a manner as I could manage. “You really should tell me; keeping your feelings hidden is never beneficial. Did something happen during your Ancient Greek lesson?”

            He shrugged. “Yeah…”

            I waited for him to elaborate, not wanting to seem like I was pestering him for an answer. However, he said nothing, sending my mind spinning into a dark abyss of anxiety and fear. I immediately started thinking of the worst possible things that could have happened, jumping from worse event to worse event. I began to eat myself up with nerves.

            “I’m fine, really,” Cat finally said, giving me a sincere smile, which looked worryingly half-hearted. “I’ve got to go, though. Bye, Plinius.”

            He embraced me, tighter and more feelingly than he had for a while. I could sense something in it, as if… he wanted to be held, as if he _needed_ to be held. Something catastrophically terrible had clearly occurred, and it was destroying me to my very core.

            “Goodbye, Cat,” I replied, returning the embrace warmly.

            We broke away after a short while, bade each other farewell once more, and parted ways. Even now, I cannot possibly imagine what had made him look so… so angry, so upset. But it was not an anger as of someone who had been wronged– it was the anger of disbelief, of shock, of utter incredulity at what they just had to go through. It was anger in response to the sadness and distress that was swiftly burning through their body.

            O, Cat! It hurts to think about him distressed. Whoever has done this will pay dearly. How _dare_ someone bring up such emotions in him? How _dare_ someone make him upset? If I have to, I will get the name of every single member of his Ancient Greek class and work out who has wronged him. No one will do such things to Cat and get away with it. No one!


	36. 20th November, 2015

20/11/16

 

Something so utterly devastating has happened that I am not sure whether I can even bear to write it. I have been in ruins for at least a day, and it seems that things are only just beginning to get better.

            My family is not of senatorial rank.

            O, even writing those words sends another pang of shame through my body! I am not descended from great senators, from praetors and consuls and proconsuls who shaped the Roman Empire to greatness! My family, for uncountable generations, were _equestrian. EQUESTRIAN!!!_

            I feel the tears welling up again. I cannot do this.

 

I am back. I feel that I must continue, and recount the day upon which the news was broken to me, and what happened afterwards. Perhaps it will calm my mind, and make me begin to accept this disgusting, heinous, despicable fact.

            Just moments after I wrote the previous journal entry, the dinner bell was rung, and I went down to recline and enjoy a delicious meal of our favourite delicacies. Our cook had even made traditional Roman honey-cake, _libum_ , for us to enjoy after the savoury courses! I was extremely pleased, for _libum_ is by far my favourite food. For some reason, it holds associations of my father, although I am not sure why– perhaps we enjoyed it together, when I was too young to remember it? Perhaps he helped me to make some, when I was but a small child? Whatever the truth was, _libum_ always comforted me, reminding me of times past, sweet times before everything turned into the maelstrom of misfortune that it currently is.

            Enough of this, Plinius! You are distressed enough as it is. You do not need any more melancholy thoughts to drag you further down into the well of misery.

            Anyway. I lay upon my usual recliner, greeting my uncle and apologizing for not changing into suitable dinner clothes– I had been quite busy writing, and when I had finished, I was too anxious to even move, let alone change into a different suit. He waved the apology away, clearly not troubled by my less-than-perfect conduct. Then I looked upon his face, and it was clear to me that he had other things on his mind.

            “Gaius,” my mother began, looking at me affectionately, “we have something quite important to tell you. We have been keeping it hidden for a while now, but we have been talking, and we believe that it is time to tell you.”

            “What is it?” I asked frantically, my mind– as usual– jumping to all sorts of outlandish conclusions.

            “Well,” said my uncle, “you were born into the Caecilii, were you not?”

            “Yes…” I replied.

            “We never informed you, but… ah, it would be best to just say it directly. The Caecilii are an equestrian family. Gaius, you are an _eques_.”

            It took some time for the words to sink in. At first, I could not believe what I was hearing, and thought that I perhaps could have misheard. But then, as I turned it over in my mind more and more, the disturbing truth hit me with full force.

            “...W-what…?” was all I could splutter out.

            My uncle and mother looked at me with sympathetic, compassionate expressions. My mother leaned over to reassure me by stroking my hair, as she always used to do when I was young and unhappy. This pushed me over the metaphorical edge, and I could feel the telling lump in my throat form as the tears began to rush to my eyes.

            “Plinius, please do not be ashamed,” my uncle said in a consoling manner. “Being an equestrian is not a bad thing. It is not anything to be ashamed of. The _equites_ in Ancient Rome were a prestigious class, holding many important offices… O, my dear nephew, where are you going? Come back!”

            By this point, I was too overwhelmed to continue with the meal, so had stood up and begun to leave the room. I did not care what my uncle and mother had to say. This news was just too terrible, too shocking. I needed some time alone to process it.

            The moment that I set foot in my bedroom, the flood began. Tears practically exploded from my eyes, accompanied by pitiful sobs and disgusting noises from my throat and mouth. I could not think of anything, nothing save for the word _eques. Eques, eques, eques…_ that was me. I was an equestrian, a knight… whatever word one uses to decorate the rank, it does not hide the fact that it is _not senatorial. I WAS NOT OF SENATORIAL RANK._

Tears blurring my vision, turning it into the foggy haze it became when I was intoxicated, I stumbled towards my hidden box of Freddos, hauling it out and slinging it onto my bed. I then threw myself upon the sheets, kicked off my shoes, ripped off my jacket and slammed my head into a pillow. My hands groped blindly for a Freddo, sliding in and running my fingers over the shiny wrappers until I grasped one.

            And once I had consumed one, I could not help myself. I kept diving into the box to grab another, ripping open the packets and shoving the chocolate into my mouth like a pig. Each one lessened my pain by just a fraction, as if the sticky hand of the Freddo frog itself was reaching out to wipe away a tear. However, not even an army of Freddo frogs could have stopped this deluge– not even Deucalion and Pyrrha would have survived it.

            I cried for endless hours, unable to stop myself for even a moment. When I thought that my misery was abating, the realisation would hit me once again, and a fresh wave of tears would stream out, like the mass armies of the Achaeans streaming across the beaches to face the Trojans on the dusty battlefields of Ilium. My handkerchief was utterly soaked through, only making my face wetter every time I wiped my cheeks with it.

            So I defenestrated it, opening my window and flinging it out, sobbing disgustingly, mucus now dripping profusely from my nostrils. Sniffing pathetically, I returned to my bed and opened up another Freddo.

            After a few hours, my mind began to cloud over with fatigue, and I almost forgot what had even caused me to become so upset. I simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, eyes stinging, Freddo wrappers littered over the duvet like the Roman bodies on the blood-soaked ground of the Teutoburg Forest after the Varian disaster.

            Again, the word _eques_ entered my mind. So I wept once more, reaching for yet more Freddos, my wailing so loud and pathetic that it probably woke the entire house. I began to violently attack my pillows and expensive cushions, screaming in anger, frustration and desperate sadness. This was not fair. This life I had been given was not fair. The Fates had truly spun the most tragic of threads when deciding its course.

            Eventually, I must have fallen asleep, and someone must have sorted me out whilst I was in the arms of unconsciousness. When I woke up, it was the next morning, and everything was back to normal in my bedroom. All the Freddo wrappers had been cleared away, my repugnantly moist face and pillows had been cleaned and the duvet had been carefully pulled up over my body.

Looking around in mild confusion, I reached onto the bedside table to retrieve my watch and check the time. To my utter horror, it was 09:36– I was so late! I would never be able to get to school in time for my first lesson. I could try, however, to get in before the end of break, and not be quite as much of a truant. So I immediately leapt out of bed, hurriedly stripping off yesterday’s now dirty clothes and stepping into the shower (although I would have far preferred a bath– I normally have one of these every evening, in our villa’s extensive Roman-style bathing complex).

Washing done, I swiftly completed the rest of my morning routine, then thundered down the stairs to find something to eat for breakfast. My mind was still drowning in thoughts of my disturbing equestrian status, but my eyes had been completely robbed of tears, so I could not cry anymore. I found some acceptable food remaining from when my mother and uncle had eaten– they like to dine early in the morning– and sat down, not wanting to be plebeian and eat on the way to my litter.

The moment that I had seated myself upon the recliner, another wave of paralysing sadness overcame me. I suddenly lost my appetite.

At that point, my mother came down and entered the room.

“Gaius! My dear Gaius!” she exclaimed, rushing over to embrace me.

“Mother,” I replied, my voice embarrassingly shaky. “I am late for school, I must go… I apologise…”

I made to stand up, but my mother protested.

“No no! We have already made it known that you will not be coming into school today. We saw you last night, and just knew that you would not be able to face it. Please, my dear, have a quiet day; come for a walk around the grounds with me, and perhaps you can accompany me for my lunch out. Would you enjoy that?”

I smiled at this, the idea of spending a peaceful day with my mother seeming extremely pleasant, and just what I needed. She began to stroke my hair once more, sending bittersweet pangs of nostalgia through me, bringing up tears which I thought had been completely spent. I stood up, allowing me to embrace her. She did this affectionately, and I could have burst into tears again, so comforting and reassuring was the gesture. We had not embraced in so long, and doing it now for the first time had made me miss it.

My mother and I used to be so close, back when I was a younger child… She always supported me, always listened to me when I had problems, always lavished me with affection. Where had that all gone? Was I growing up, growing out of this? For in this moment, when I was in such a state, I really felt that I could not quite let those memories, that old way of living, go. She was one of the only links I had to my father, the one other person in the household before he passed away. For a time, it had just been the two of us. How could I leave that behind, and seemingly forget those difficult days?

O, even now, these thoughts are wounding me. I must continue before I begin to weep again.

My mother lay in her recliner beside me and joined me as I slowly consumed my breakfast, not at all hungry, but feeling that I needed to eat at least a morsel. After this was done, I returned to my apartments to redo my toilette, since I had been heavily rushing, and did not feel as awake or as clean as I wanted to. I then came back to my mother, and we went outside for a walk through our gorgeous grounds.

The Villa Plinia’s land is, fortunately, exceedingly large, and we have many beautiful areas in which one could spend hours. My favourite part of the grounds has always been the Roman-style pleasure garden, modelled after the remains of a real Roman garden from a Pompeian house, with accurate species of plants and flowers, and some stunning sculpture and fountains. The place was so beautiful that I could imagine a pastoral poet writing a sweet and delicate bucolic about it, then sitting within it and performing their poem to the accompaniment of a lyre. (I shall have to take Cat here one day; he will surely compose something excellent!)

So, my mother and I took a turn around the garden, as she continued to console me and reassure me that being an equestrian was not at all shameful. But I could not help the icy chill of fear that shot through me– what if the Secundi Filii found out about this? What if this gave them the perfect reason to shun me, to completely block me out of their group? And then, what if word spread throughout Year 12, that I was in fact a… a _pleb_ , acting as if I were a patrician? _Pretending_ as if I were a patrician? My entire demeanour was all an act, a façade! Surely the Secundi Filii, of all people, would be able to see through that instantly.

I began to get anxious again, and my mother sensed my change in mood.

“What is troubling you, my dear?” she asked, taking my hand in a loving manner.

“Oh, it is nothing,” I replied. “I am simply worried, as usual. O, I seem to get anxious at even the slightest provocation…”

“You have always been like that, darling, even as a child! You naturally worry about everything. Ah, I remember once, when you were about seven years old, you accidentally spilled some food onto one of your uncle’s expensive vintage armchairs, and were up all night panicking over it! I found you in your bathroom, rocking back and forth on the floor, cheeks wet with tears…”

“That isn’t normal, mother!” I exclaimed, mortified by this memory. “O, there is something wrong with me…”

I sat down upon a marble bench, sighing in exasperation.

The rest of the day went on in a similarly depressing manner, and it would only injure my own emotional state to recall it in full. In short, I spent the hours talking with my mother, having another terrible thought pop into my mind, then getting flustered, panicked and miserable all over again. It became more than just the fact that I was a filthy equestrian– literally everything that had ever troubled me came flooding into my thoughts, overwhelming me, causing me to keep bursting into tears at random. For the entire day, my eyes were red and raw, ceaselessly stinging no matter how many hours I went without crying.

It was pathetic.

Now, it is Friday night, and things are beginning to look up. I have not cried for at least four hours, and I managed to have a full meal without losing my appetite due to the onset of negative emotions. I am overjoyed that I now have a weekend to look forward to, as I am not sure that I would be able to face another day of scrutiny and judgement at Sixth Form. I shall simply devote my time to doing my outstanding pieces of homework, and perhaps work on a poem or two (for the Muse strikes the hardest at moments of great emotion). I will salvage something positive out of this wreckage of a week.


	37. 23rd November, 2015

23/11/15

 

Ah, sweet and merciful gods, trust Cat to always have a reassuring word! The disgust and shame of my status as an _eques_ has been almost completely wiped away thanks to his kind, caring and consoling nature.

This morning, I entered school absolutely petrified that the Secundi Filii would be able to smell the whiff of my equestrian heritage on me, as if the _angustus clavus_ had spontaneously appeared on my clothing. I could not even bear to look into Tacitus’ and Hadrian’s eyes during Economics, for fear that they would be able to just _see_ the 400,000 sesterces of equestrian order property qualification just shining in my pupils.

At breaktime, I sought out Cat, hoping to confide in him about this distressing turn of events. Unfortunately, I did not find him until I entered the classroom for Classical Civilisation, and by that point it was far too late to pour out my heart to him. I simply sat down, took out my things, and tried to throw myself into my study of Homer’s Odyssey. However, thoughts of what I wanted to tell Cat swirled through my mind like a tempest, so I could barely concentrate on the great poet’s beautiful words. I kept getting Cat’s attention, hoping to spill out my inner feelings, but let fear overcome me and prevent me from speaking. Cat became more and more confused every time I tapped him on the shoulder, only to open and close my mouth pointlessly and eventually say “Oh, nothing…”

The moment that the double lesson ended, Cat made to go home, for he had no lessons that afternoon. I stopped him before he could mount his moped and zoom away.

“Cat, I have something terrible to tell you,” I finally said. He immediately stopped, looking at me with a sympathetic, compassionate expression.

“What is it?”

“Well… O, by the gods… I do not know if I can even say it!”

Clearly, this got Cat very worried, and his face became even more anxious.

“Cat, I am… I am an equestrian.”

It took him a while to understand what I meant, but when he finally did, his expression changed to one of mild relief, and slight amusement.

“Oh, Plinius…” was all he could say, head in hands as he leaned on his moped (in a rather attractive manner, I might add). “Is that what you’ve been trying to tell me all lesson?”

“Yes… It has been on my mind for days now. It is why I did not attend school on Friday.”

“My god… Plinius, seriously…”

He swiftly leapt up and embraced me, sighing deeply. This lasted for many sweet, pleasant moments, and when we finally broke away, he spoke some reassuring words.

“There is _nothing_ wrong with being an equestrian, dude… Like, it’s not like it has any bearing on your life now, does it?”

“But it does! How could I possibly join the Secundi Filii with such a low status? They would shun me immediately!”

“Are all of them senatorial, though? I mean, Antinous for one…”

I sighed in exasperation at the mention of the man who had taken my place in the exclusive group.

“That is true, but it is plain to see that Antinous did not get inducted for his high rank…” I swallowed down the fireball of anger that was burning its way through my body. “Anyway, I am just… ashamed by my rank. I had always assumed that the Plinii and Caecilii were senators! How could none of them have reached even the position of _quaestor_? It is deplorable!”

“You really don’t need to worry about this,” Cat said, his voice and expression even more sympathetic. “No one will care about your rank, literally no one. Most people at this school probably don’t even know what the equestrian order fucking _is_! I mean, if it’s any consolation, my family was equestrian too…”

I did not reply, for I was turning Cat’s words over in my mind. And they were true. Yes. No one _would_ care about my rank, not even perhaps the Secundi Filii. Thinking about it rationally, I really was not sure that all of them _were_ senatorial… Certainly, the Clari were not one of the great, ancient, illustrious Roman families. Nor the Marones. Nor the Tranquilli. So that was at least three Secundi Filii who were not definitely of senatorial rank.

“Thank you, Cat,” I finally said. “You have been most helpful, as always. You truly always have something wise to say.”

“I wouldn’t go quite that far!” he laughed.

With an extended farewell, we parted ways, and I watched longingly as Cat drove off on his mint-green moped. What about that vehicle was so fascinating to me? Why did it add to Cat’s attractiveness, every time he was near it? Did he… did he feel the same way about my litter?

Blessed gods, I am so utterly embarrassed to have written that sentence.


	38. 24th November, 2015

24/11/15

 

What an odd day.

            During Law, we were put into pairs in order to work on a sort of revision activity, in preparation for our upcoming end-of-term test. Regulus was– thankfully– not in, as he was ill, so I prepared to do the work alone. No one was sitting near me, after all…

            But it turns out, someone was.

            “Plinius, please work with Lepidus,” said Mr Cicero. I looked around the room, unsure of who this individual was.

            I turned to the seat on the other side of me, the one in which Regulus did not sit, and found a pleasant-looking young man waving hesitantly at me. I was almost visibly taken aback by this– where in the name of the gods had he even _come_ from?

            “Hello there, Lepidus,” I said amicably, holding out my hand for him to shake. He did so, looking somewhat confused– offended, perhaps.

            Mr Cicero briefed us on what we were supposed to do, then set us off on our work. There were a few seconds of silence between Lepidus and I. Without thinking, I launched into some questions.

            “So, I hate to be rude, but… have you always sat in that seat? Or did you recently move? Did you recently join the class, in fact?”

            He looked away from me for a moment, his face falling somewhat.

            “Um, no…” he replied, fiddling with his pen whilst avoiding my gaze. “I’ve sat in that seat all year…”

            I threw a hand to my heart, gasping in utter mortification. I was instantly filled with severe embarrassment, such overwhelming disgust at myself that all words fled from my mind. How rude of me! How rude and inconsiderate and unobservant! I had been in this class since September, and not once had I noticed this poor young man!

            “I… I… I… O, goodness… I…” I stammered pitifully. “Please… please forgive me…”

            I put my head in my hands, sighing as heavily as the West Wind Zephyrus himself.

            “It’s okay,” replied Lepidus. “Really, it’s fine. I’m just quite quiet; no one really notices me.”  
            This broke my heart.

            “But my friend, how tragic that is! I just feel so… so terrible! I cannot believe that you have been sitting next to me for the entire year, and I have not once even so much as _seen_ you before. I understand if you no longer want to work with me, if you do not accept my apology, if you move into a different seat and avoid me forever. I do not deserve anything less.”

            Lepidus gave me a smile, which– in my horribly shameful state– I interpreted as sad and melancholy. This metaphorically slashed my already shattered heart into small, pathetic fragments. Was I really this awful a human being?

            “It’s fine, honestly. I prefer to fly under the radar, you know? I don’t mind working on my own, keeping to myself, whatever. I like it.”

            “I-if you’re sure…” I said, still overcome with embarrassment and guilt.

            We continued with the revision activity in relative silence, occasionally saying a few words to make sure that we were both on the same page, as it were. For the entire time, I was cursing myself for never being aware of Lepidus. Honestly, what a deplorable individual I was, so caught up in my own world that I did not even notice the _existence_ of another person. Repulsive. Just repulsive. I needed to extract my head out of my own anus.

            Once the lesson was over, I apologised to Lepidus once more, then hurriedly packed my things in order to leave as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the two of us happened to leave at the same time, causing an awkward scuffle by the door. I let him pass, seeing that a couple of young women were standing outside, and greeted him the moment he stepped through the door. Since the corridors were so congested with plebs, I had to plod slowly behind him, enabling me to hear snatches of his conversation. And O, Lepidus truly _had_ been affected by my rudeness!

            He was talking about the lesson, mentioning the incident– that embarrassing and horrific incident– that had hurt me so deeply. The last thing I heard before I located and got into the safety of my litter was:

            “Why does only (your name) notice me?”

  
~ Timeskip brought to you by Caecilius ~


	39. 28th November, 2015

28/11/16

 

How supremely relaxing today has been! I am somewhat exhausted, but in that pleasant way which signals that one has just had a productive, fulfilling day. You see, I have been out on my uncle’s cabin cruiser, on a small solo trip out on the wine-dark sea.

You may well ask why. Well, I have come to the conclusion that I have been exceedingly stressed recently, and I decided that I needed to do something in order to fully relax and banish all cares from my mind. My first thought had been to do some extra reading around my school subjects, but I realised that this would only cause me more stress– I would think of school, the subject, the class, and then finally be bombarded with thoughts of my irritating peers, and the irritating Secundi Filii.

I then thought about simply sitting back with a good, non-school related book, but that notion was soon defeated, for one of the first names mentioned in the book that I chose was, unfortunately, Regulus. Disgusted, I realised with horror that Regulus’ ancestors were illustrious enough to have been included in a famous history, and that mine certainly were not. This brought back the disturbing memories of the equestrian bombshell, so I threw the book across the room and tried to think of something else that would truly de-stress me.

I eventually came upon the idea of a boat trip. As well as a yacht (of which my uncle had recently purchased a replacement, as Clarus clearly was not going to), my uncle also owned a small cabin cruiser, perfect for short voyages with a small group of people. The mere idea of taking that out on a clear day, with a delicious picnic packed and some luxury bottles of champagne on ice, filled me with such a sense of calm and contentment that I wanted to run out of the house immediately. It was then decided. I needed a boat trip.

On Friday evening, I asked my uncle whether I could take the cabin cruiser for a day. He seemed somewhat taken aback at this, for I had never displayed a huge interest in sailing– at least not as a hobby or career– so questioned whether I would be able to successfully captain it without the help of anyone else. I assured him that I would of course be capable of this– I had been at the helm of a vessel on many an occasion throughout my life, and nothing catastrophic had happened… aside from the recent yacht party incident. This was clearly on my uncle’s mind, for he gave me a very pointed look.

“Are you sure, Gaius?”

“Most definitely. I am able to navigate a small boat on the water; the yacht, on the other hand, was… a lot more complicated. But a cabin cruiser? Simple. You underestimate me, uncle.”

He smiled, almost as if holding back a laugh.

“Most excellent. Well, you can certainly borrow it for the day tomorrow. I shall get our cooks to prepare a delightful picnic– shall I ask them to make _libum_ for you? It would not be a _true_ day of relaxation without it, do you not agree?”

My heart leapt at the thought of my favourite food. Ah, _libum_ truly would make my day an utterly wonderful one! I could taste it now, the rich and honeyed bites practically dissolving on my tongue, the complex taste caressing my mouth, the memories and nostalgia flooding in like an untameable river current…

“That would be splendid, uncle,” I replied, trying not to smile too inappropriately, too widely.

We then discussed the possible contents of my picnic, my uncle enthusiastically suggesting dishes that he thought I would enjoy. We eventually decided upon an array of Roman delicacies, ones that I had always enjoyed since childhood, in order to fully maximise the pleasant and relaxing nature of the day. My heart could barely be contained in my chest for the excitement building up within me, and the evening passed wonderfully, my mind drifting away into pleasant thoughts of my impending trip as I completed my homework.

Once night in all its comfort descended upon the fruitful earth, I prepared myself for bed and fell into a sweet sleep, dreaming of the wine-dark sea and my boat upon it. The next morning could not come soon enough, and just as dawn appeared I dressed myself and got ready to go out on my splendid day trip. However, just before I left my bedroom, my eyes fell upon my white sailor’s parade uniform. This had been made for me for a portrait a year or two ago, in which my uncle and I were depicted as naval men, with a calm and vast sea behind us. I had only worn it once, on the days during which I had sat for the portrait, but today I was pulled by a deep longing to wear it again. It would make the day, I thought. (And it turns out, it most certainly did.)

I changed out of my crisp, fresh suit and donned the uniform, like an Iliadic warrior arming himself gloriously before striding out onto the wide plain to do battle. When this was done, and I peered at myself in the mirror, I could not help but be proud of my appearance, the shining white jacket and trousers hugging my body perfectly, the officer’s peaked cap soaring high into the sky, like the horsehair plumes of a centurion’s helmet. Somehow, it suited my face perfectly, drawing attention to my cheekbones and jawline, and my proud nose. It resembled the great noses of the Romans only a little, but this had never been an embarrassment to me– I perfectly liked its size, which many had claimed was too large, the upturned tip and the straight bridge. It felt at home on my face.

Ah, I digress. Once I had put on the uniform, I went downstairs to retrieve my picnic, which, fortunately, had already been packed by the cooks. Thanking them, quickly consuming a small breakfast, I got my litter ready and stepped in, waving a final goodbye to my mother and uncle. Then, my litter-bearers with their swift feet began the journey to the harbour where my uncle’s cabin cruiser was located.

Soon enough, I was there, for the roads were fairly empty due to the early hour. I spotted the boat sitting proudly at anchor, swaying and bobbing slightly in the gently undulating water, its pristine white surfaces gleaming in the pale orange light of the morning sun. Thanking my litter-bearers for their excellent service– as usual– I sent them away and strode to the cabin cruiser, heart filled with pleasure and mind filled with thoughts of my upcoming day.

Before long, I had prepared the boat for sailing, and swiftly I was off, the well-built hull cutting cleanly through the water as it raced over the waves like a seagull. I had not planned a particular route, but I had my maps and instruments ready for reference, so that I would not go wildly off-course or lose sight of land. Perhaps, I thought, I would sail for a while, taking in the sights of the coast and the crystal sea, then stop for a moment to consume my picnic and sip my champagne? Perhaps I could sail to another harbour in some quaint seaside town, then step onto dry land and explore what it had to offer, finding a beach or park in which to have my picnic?

To me, the former option seemed best. So, on I went, my craft skipping across the vast expanse of the sea, the wind caressing my skin; the sounds of it rushing past my ears, the sound of the water spraying as the hull touched down so lightly on the tops of the waves, the sun illuminating everything in its white-gold glow; it all flowed together into one symphony of sense and feeling, a paroxysm of pure and utter bliss.

Looking up at the clear sky in all its sultry shades of blue, the sea surrounding me, filling my ears and my nose and my eyes and my thoughts with its majesty, I was transported back into the past, into every single year, into the world of every single human who had ever crossed the sea. Each one had done as I did, each one had looked up at this same sky, each one had heard the waves and the wind all around them; I was just another part of it, one more in the great and ancient tradition of sailing the waters, one more person to have a relationship to the sea. In that moment, I was Ulysses, as he was driven to lands unknown to have untold adventures; I was Aeneas, looking intently on the horizon for any trace of the land which he would soon call home; I was Telemachus, journeying in the hope of emulating his father and even slightly matching his glory. It was a euphoria which I can only _attempt_ to describe in mortal language.

I felt as if Neptune himself were there, riding the crests of the waves with me in his shining chariot. My body was filled with a powerful sense of pure fervour, and an awe at just how close the gods seemed. Immediately, I let the boat rest on the water and rushed to make an offering, leaning over the side in order to wash my hands in the most natural lustral water, the very salt-waves of the sea itself. This done, I popped open the champagne and poured a libation directly into the sea, which was foaming around the boat with the excitement of recent movement. As I did this, I called aloud to the gods, and Neptune in particular, invoking him and thanking him deeply for this day and all its blessings. I then tore off a piece of my fragrant bread and threw it into the sea, thinking it suitable in lieu of burning the offering, for I had no way to make a fire on the boat.

As soon as I had done this, I noticed a large wave come speeding from the horizon, its white frothing crests leaping to the heavens like the very horses of the great sea-god. It grew closer and closer to me, but mercifully did not crash over my boat, losing its power just before it reached me. I took this as a sign that the god had heard my prayer and enjoyed my offering, and I could only smile at this joyous, religious moment.

I continued on with my journey, invigorated by the encounter. I navigated a little closer to the coastline, in the hope of viewing some breathtaking scenery, for my map had informed me that there were some interesting towns studded along this coast like jewels on the crown of a powerful ancient king. And I did indeed spot some gems: soon, I noticed an intriguing set of ruins standing proudly on a jutting headland, hollow and crumbled through the weight of the centuries but still holding an imposing sense of grandeur. It appeared to be some sort of fort, perhaps from the Medieval period, made from the characteristic stone of this region. I turned towards it, the cabin cruiser leaning as I swung it round to sail closer in. Unfortunately, the water looked to be too shallow to get a true, proper look at the building, so I was forced to retreat and admire it from afar.

Along the coast from this fort was a small village, with a cluster of buildings just beyond the gleaming beach, and gorgeous translucent water, rich with an almost Aegean-esque blue-green colour. Even from my distance away, I could spot people on the sand, and some in the water, enjoying the blessed sun and warmth of the day. Ah, how peaceful it all was!

After some hours of simply sailing and admiring my perfect surroundings, I brought the cabin cruiser to a halt in the middle of a patch of sea so clear and turquoise that it would not have been out of place in the Mediterranean. I dropped the anchor to secure the boat in its position, then retrieved the picnic which I had stowed away under the benches to hide it from the elements. The first thing I thought to do was pour myself a delightful glass of champagne, for it was already open and I did not want the bubbles to dissipate. This done, I took a quick sip to taste it. O, it was just gorgeous! How could anyone even stand to drink such vile things as Smirnoff, Bacardi or Carlsberg when splendid drinks like this existed? The only thing that would have made it better is if I had taken an ice bucket with me to cool the champagne to perfection.

I next opened the lavish picnic basket and took out some bread as a small starter. After leaving some aside as my customary offering to the gods, I began to eat, savouring the delectable and complex flavours by chewing slowly. Our household chefs were truly talented, able to make the most simple of foods into something exciting and transcendent. Even this bread was beautiful, with many layers of flavour and undertones of aromatic herbs.

After I had finished with the bread, I took out the rest of the small plates and began to sample them. Each one was a classic Roman dish, based on family recipes passed down through literally thousands of years, staples of the Plinii and Caecilii for countless generations. I finished every single dish, marvelling at the light yet flavourful nature of the food– it was truly like consuming nectar and ambrosia.

Finally, I moved onto the _libum_ , smiling as I unwrapped the rich, honeyed slices and inhaled their intoxicating aroma. I then wondered if Cat enjoyed this delicacy as much as I did. In fact, what sort of cuisine did he even have at home? Did he only eat Roman food, as our family does? It seemed unlikely; even Tacitus does not follow this custom. This made me think; that means that Cat has never tried _libum_ before! I would need to have some made for him, if he ever comes to the Villa Plinia for dinner (O, how I would love that!).

I found myself eating all of it, despite the fact that it was so rich and filling. Afterwards, I felt exceedingly full, so stretched myself out upon the luxurious upholstered seating of the cabin cruiser and fell into a welcome sleep.

I am unsure how long my nap lasted– for time passes so unpredictably in the arms of unconsciousness– but I woke up, at least, before the sun began to dip. It was still blazing high in the sky as I aroused myself from sleep, hurting my eyes somewhat as they gently opened. Once I had become alert, shaking the final vestiges of sleep from my limbs, I thought it best to continue with my journey. It would undoubtedly soon be late afternoon, and then sunset, and I did not want to be caught far out at sea after dark. As good a seaman as I was, I was somewhat anxious at the thought of being on the water at night.

Stowing the anchor and powering the cabin cruiser up, I looked to my new route, seeing a small sailboat languidly drifting towards me, being gently driven across the water by the slight breeze. As I passed it, I waved a greeting to the sailors, but found myself faced with a group of rowdy university students, all of them shirtless and seemingly incredibly intoxicated. They all hollered a greeting in my direction, brandishing bottles of disgusting beer as they waved. I caught a glimpse of the breasts of a couple of the young women, immediately turning away and feeling despicable for looking and thus intruding on their bodies.

I in my vessel was a lot faster than them in theirs, owing to my powerful motor and their reliance on the wind, so I was soon out of their earshot. I continued my course, once again hugging as closely to the coast as I was able, in order to have a look at the interesting scenery of the land. I went on my way fairly slowly, for there was no rush to return to the harbour, and before too long the sun began to go down. This added a new layer of beauty to my surroundings, everything now bathing in a deep haze of orange. The sea reflected fractured shards of this sultry light, and the land was tinted with its gorgeous glow.

I sighed deeply, inhaling the pure peace and tranquility in the air. This day had most certainly proved to be delightful. It had been just what I needed, a perfect break from all the stresses and pressures of daily life. Just me, the sea and the sky, with no one but the gods around to watch. All negativity had been totally melted away from my mind, like snow on a spring morning. My anxiety, normally so overpowering and ever-present, was just an afterthought, the half-forgotten memory of long-gone days. Everything was blissful, a glimpse into euphoria, surely the closest to Elysium that a living mortal could get.

Eventually, the harbour faded into view, coming gently into focus across the water. With a heart slightly saddened by the end of my day, yet still floating on a sea of utter contentment, I sailed towards it and put in, finding my mother and uncle waiting there for me with welcoming smiles.

“How was your day, darling?” my mother asked, the moment that I had stepped off the cabin cruiser.

“Absolutely splendid,” I replied, returning the embrace which she was now giving me.

“I am so glad! We both thought that you really did need a day off.”

Our conversation continued in this pleasant manner as we made for the litter, stepped in and began the journey home. However, I quietly exited the discussion, for I desired to write about my day in my journal. That is the entry that you read now.

 

~

 

The mystery sender is at it again!

            The moment that I set foot beyond the threshold of my home, I noticed a package on the floor in front of me, immediately reading my name on the address label. Slightly disappointed that Jonty had not picked it up and brought it to my study whilst I was out, I took it in my hands and dashed upstairs, hoping that my uncle and mother would not question me. Unfortunately, they did.

            “What did you purchase, Gaius?” my uncle inquired, as I leapt up the main staircase to get away from them.

            “Nothing of interest, uncle,” I replied, praying that he would not ask any more questions.

            “Alright… well, food will be served in about an hour; please do not be late!”

            I sighed deeply in relief. If this package were as embarrassing and obscene as those sex toys… my uncle would surely think me a barbaric peasant, totally unworthy of the name of Caecilius.

            So, I rushed upstairs to my apartments and ripped open the top of the rather heavy cardboard box. In it I found 36 bottles of Tabasco sauce.

            I must admit, I was unsure at first what exactly this was, for I had never heard of the brand. After opening one of them and tasting a drop… O, sweet and merciful gods, I swore that I had descended to the very flames of Tartarus itself. The spice assaulted each and every one of my senses, pounding and pummelling my very taste buds into submission. Saliva poured into my mouth, churning and splashing like the sea in a storm. But it could not save me from the evil heat; I could hardly see through the thick haze of tears; I could hardly breathe for the pain in my mouth. What was this horrific, torturous condiment, and why did it exist? Who would put this on their food, knowing that it caused so much agony? Surely only an extreme masochist would willingly go through this.

            When I came downstairs for supper, my mouth was still burning, my eyes were still watering and my nose was still running. Both my mother and uncle asked me what on earth I had been doing upstairs, but I simply could not tell them the truth. The curse of the mystery sender was my burden to bear, and mine alone. And I most certainly did not want them to open a package and discover some sort of inappropriate item!

            Who on earth even _is_ sending these things? What do they want? It is not as if they live here, so can derive joy out of my reaction. I do not talk about it in school, so they could not enjoy my discomfort even then. Was the mere _thought_ of irritating me enough to excite them?

It is not a totally inconceivable idea. After all, people like Regulus and Clarus do exist in this world.


End file.
